I thought I'd go ahead and crosspost this to Sufficient Velocity. Just some HERESY! I've had on...
His Will Be Done, A Warhammer40k/Kancolle Story
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Part 1
I thought I'd go ahead and crosspost this to Sufficient Velocity. Just some HERESY! I've had on my brain for a while now. So kick back, relax, and enjoy. 
----==== ][ ====----
His Majesty called to her, in her eternal slumber.
She knew that much, in her sleep, that only He could possibly do such a thing. The Impossible. The Miracle. To call to her as she slept in death.
She had earned this much, to rest for eternity. Armageddon survived due to her. It's people safe from the Orks, the Greenskin menace. She had ensured that much. So why couldn't she sleep? Rest after more than ten millennia of honorable service?
His Majesty called to her, in her eternal slumber.
Why? Why couldn't he let her sleep? Her Admiral. He'd… Why?
Again, he called to her.
...because there were still people who still needed her. Because there were people who still depended on her. People who would die senselessly without her.
Memories of Armageddon flooded forth, of a world beset on all sides by an endless green tide, of men and women standing strong and holding fast against all odds and making the ultimate sacrifice. Hives awash in green, the inhabitants butchered like cattle. A lone man, a Commissar in a peaked cap and an Orkish Klaw where his arm should have been facing off against an Ork Warboss thrice his size. Countless warships, fighting, burning, dying…
The Third War. That... was then. But this was now.
New images. She saw a man, not unlike the other, short, squat, his massive greatcoat ensconcing his form and a cigar clamped tightly in his mouth, barking orders to those around him. The world he stood on, majestic and recognizable. Towering hive cities, glorified fortresses bristling with artillery, massive reinforced hab-blocks and zig-zagging claustrophobic streets. Its surface swathed in armies of both the Imperium and the Ruinous Powers, bleeding and dying for every last square meter of ground. She knew this world, despite having served a Segmentum away.
Cadia.
Above it, vast battle fleets clashed, lances and macro-cannons blazing in the void, countless warships torn asunder by capital fire. On one side, the Imperial Navy, fighting tooth and nail. On the other…
Chaos. Chaos Undivided. A vast armada of disparate, insidious vessels. At the lead, a colossal heinous thing, vast weapon barrels aimed forward, glowing from within...
This… This was why he called to her.
But… there was nothing she could do. She had fought and died, and joined her fallen Sisters in eternal sleep. No matter her feelings there was little she could do beyond watch events unfold.
Again, he called to her.
...Could she? Could she fight once more?
YES.
GO.
A tremendous surge of energy washed through her, and for the first time in what felt like eons, she moved. Vast plasma reactors roared, fires once more kindled within them. Colossal engines flared, thrusting her tremendous bulk into motion. Augur arrays and cogitators came alive, sensing and thinking where there had been neither, tasting what lay beyond her vast void shields which too flickered into being.
This place. This cold nothing. A mouth unfamiliar to her opened and she roared, aether parting before her prow as she aimed up, towards whatever constituted a surface or boundary in that forsaken place. In the darkened gloom she saw a light above and ahead of her. Seeing where she needed to go her engines burned, gouts of plasma propelling her forwards.
She burst through, into the Void, the blackness of space, screaming with lungs she never knew she had. That she shouldn't have…
She saw. The glittering of stars. Blooms of light in the far distance, all around her. And that majestic planet beneath her keel that needed her.
She laughed, She cried as she laughed. She felt the sunlight of a nearby star wash across her hull. She lived, a blazing fire within her rekindled by the glory that was His Majesty. By his will.
His Will.
Her name.
Will looked at the stars around her. What few that were visible, beyond the swirling nightmarish Warp clouds of the Eye of Terror. She knew that many of the stars her augury arrays were seeing weren't stars at all but warships, their weapon batteries blossoming as they spoke with the Emperor's voice. Even then, battle raged. It, all of it was overwhelming, the thrill of anticipation that was the eve of battle, just being alive once again… She threw her arms out and shouted into the black, her Vox carrying through the void to any who would hear her.
Her arms… Wait... Arms?
It was then that Will finally noticed two important details she had overlooked.
First, She had arms. And breasts. And a body, a human body, all attached to said breasts.
The second was that heretical weapon batteries were opening fire upon her, corrupted macro cannon shells already in flight.
Despite her current predicament, her formerly exuberant grin turned absolutely savage, and she spoke, her voice reverberating through the stars.
"Apocalypse-class Battleship 'His Will,' one of many. In His name, His Will Be Done."
Her engines flared to life, and she charged the Enemy.
Lord Admiral Timotheus Quarren was far from a simple man. No, he was quite the opposite. To understand the complexities of Navy politics, of its strategy and warfare, one had to possess a mind most intricately complex. One capable of handling the daily intrigues that came with such a lofty rank, the subtle rivalries and subterfuge and ploys, the web of politics and agreements. The daily headaches that came with managing the defense of one of the most important sectors in the Imperium, second perhaps only to Terra itself.
But he didn't need that mind to see the predicament that had befallen the Sector. Or that the Sector would likely fall today, in the absence of a miracle.
Before him, above a great holo-pedestal on the Bridge of his flag battleship Savon's Legacy, a flickering hologram of the Cadia System glowed. Countless orbital lines and planetary spheres and pict-symbols filling the empty wire-frame space. There were many small blue symbols amongst the green worlds and orbit-lines denoting the honorable warships of the Imperial Navy, his own included. But there were many, many more that were a shade of insidious red, denoting those of Abaddon's battlefleet. Much of it was currently engaged with his own forces around Cadia, massive kilometers-long conglomerations of chaotic stars and spikes trading battery fire with his own warships.
But much more of it had just arrived - the main force, a vast armada lead from the front by The Despoiler's own monstrous and nightmarish flagship: Planet Killer.
Quarren sighed heavily. It was not long before the vessel would be within range, and deal a death blow to the Segmentum with its main armament. Even still, he would not give up fighting, not as long as he had a ship beneath his feet and a fleet at his beck and call. He had a plan, but it was a long shot… and a suicidal shot at that.
"My Lord, you look unwell." Vice Admiral Pieter von Saeger, the proper Captain of the Legacy. A good friend over many, many years of service in the Segmentum's Navy. A true Cadian by birth, and a man Quarren could have called his brother. "And the thoughts I have no doubt you are considering…" von Saeger grimaced, already understanding his Commander's motives.
"Reinforcements?"
"Reserve Fleets from the Agripinaa and Calixis Sectors, primarily. There are additional Fleets en route as well from several sectors further away..."
"They will not arrive in time." Quarren stated as matter-of-fact. There weren't any assumptions needed. What few ships he had left was all he had. Not before Abaddon claimed his victory. He had no doubts that the Warmaster knew this. Thirteen Black Crusades, ten thousand years of war, for this moment.
"So we charge the enemy. Muster what few fleet elements we have left and plunge head-on into the Warmaster's own fleet with the express intent of destroying him and his flagship at all cost, and thereby buying Cadia enough time for our own reinforcements to replace us as its defense?"
Quarren nodded, grimly. His long-time friend knew him far too well.
"My Admiral, what you plan is guaranteed suicide," von Saeger stated. "And my ship, crew and the entire fleet stand ready for your orders."
"What little left of it there is, sadly." It was a terrible moment for snark, but there was little else he could say. The writing was on the wall, so to speak.
"Which is why I advise giving any further orders with due haste," the Vice Admiral replied. "Lest your plan fall away into the void."
Quarren sighed once more, before a grin spread across his face. "To the very end?"
von Saeger nodded. "And into the Eye of Terror, if need be."
Quarren nodded, turning from the holo-sphere to gaze out upon the Bridge, and the void and stars beyond. Before him and to his left, the world of Cadia, a beacon in the darkness. And all around the reddish swirling clouds of the Eye of Terror, and the ongoing battles therein. He drew a breath, preparing to issue the order he decided would earn him his banner before the Eternity Gate upon Holy Terra when one of the many officers manning the Bridge consoles, specifically the augury technician, spoke up.
"My Lord Admiral, I have identified an unknown contact. Bearing zero-four-five, deprecation neg-zero-three-five..." A beat. Quarren had a feeling what was coming next and the man promptly confirmed that fear. "An Apocalypse-class battleship, my Lord. It's vox-transponder… It's His Will sir." Four words, spoken with slight, subtle reverence.
A chill ran down Quarren's spine. von Saeger's as well, at hearing those four words. The latter ignored procedure, stepping down from the vast command podium and towards the front of the Bridge. In a moment he was standing beside the augury technician at his post. "Say again, Lieutenant." The Vice Admiral stared at the glowing green screen, if only to confirm with his own eyes what was spoken.
The Bridge stirred at the unprecedented sight, the rarity and disruption of ceremonial procedure. And the sudden and almost imperceptible shift of the battlefield. Quarren, from his vantage point on the command podium above, noted a single blinking pict-symbol on the Augury before the two. Even from this distance he could observe the screen, but that was more the benefit of a bionic eye than anything else. "His Will, sir. Apocalypse-class."
"Impossible. Unless…"
"It has turned Traitor," Quarren spoke. His Will. Believed lost in the Warp and destroyed a year before, in the Armageddon Sector and a Segmentum away. A legend of Segmentum Solar, lost to the Orks during the closing hours of the Third Armageddon War. Quarren knew the name and ship well - it was a sad day in the Navy, when such a rare and venerated ship was lost.
But here and now of all places and times… He turned back to the holo-sphere and the flickering battlescape. At that moment, the mystery warship had appeared equidistant between his own fleet and Abaddon's, in the center of a rapidly forming maelstrom of battle. As he observed, the vessel's pict-symbol rotated, angling towards the Heretic fleet.
As the pict-symbol lurched towards Abaddon's cluster of red, Quarren spoke. "Hail the vessel," the Lord Admiral ordered.
"We have tried, my Lord," another Officer replied. "No reply to our direct summons but… it is broadcasting on all channels. Vox-cast only."
Quarren grimaced. "Let us hear it." A mere moment later, the Bridge was filled with quite possibly the last thing a Lord Admiral with more than two centuries of service in the Navy of the Imperium of Man ever expected to hear: The sound of a young woman, laughing with deranged glee and mocking the Ruinous Powers.
"Is that it!? Is that the best you've got!? Your little macro shells tickle me. TICKLE ME! I am His Will made manifest! Let me show you the best the Emperor's got, foul heretic scum!"
As girlish maniacal laughter filled the Bridge of Savon's Legacy, it was everything Quarren could do to keep his composure from collapsing into slack-jawed amazement. Even as, at the back of his mind, he realized what this meant.
The miracle he had been hoping for had come to Cadia.
----==== ][ ====----
His Majesty called to her, in her eternal slumber.
She knew that much, in her sleep, that only He could possibly do such a thing. The Impossible. The Miracle. To call to her as she slept in death.
She had earned this much, to rest for eternity. Armageddon survived due to her. It's people safe from the Orks, the Greenskin menace. She had ensured that much. So why couldn't she sleep? Rest after more than ten millennia of honorable service?
His Majesty called to her, in her eternal slumber.
Why? Why couldn't he let her sleep? Her Admiral. He'd… Why?
Again, he called to her.
...because there were still people who still needed her. Because there were people who still depended on her. People who would die senselessly without her.
Memories of Armageddon flooded forth, of a world beset on all sides by an endless green tide, of men and women standing strong and holding fast against all odds and making the ultimate sacrifice. Hives awash in green, the inhabitants butchered like cattle. A lone man, a Commissar in a peaked cap and an Orkish Klaw where his arm should have been facing off against an Ork Warboss thrice his size. Countless warships, fighting, burning, dying…
The Third War. That... was then. But this was now.
New images. She saw a man, not unlike the other, short, squat, his massive greatcoat ensconcing his form and a cigar clamped tightly in his mouth, barking orders to those around him. The world he stood on, majestic and recognizable. Towering hive cities, glorified fortresses bristling with artillery, massive reinforced hab-blocks and zig-zagging claustrophobic streets. Its surface swathed in armies of both the Imperium and the Ruinous Powers, bleeding and dying for every last square meter of ground. She knew this world, despite having served a Segmentum away.
Cadia.
Above it, vast battle fleets clashed, lances and macro-cannons blazing in the void, countless warships torn asunder by capital fire. On one side, the Imperial Navy, fighting tooth and nail. On the other…
Chaos. Chaos Undivided. A vast armada of disparate, insidious vessels. At the lead, a colossal heinous thing, vast weapon barrels aimed forward, glowing from within...
This… This was why he called to her.
But… there was nothing she could do. She had fought and died, and joined her fallen Sisters in eternal sleep. No matter her feelings there was little she could do beyond watch events unfold.
Again, he called to her.
...Could she? Could she fight once more?
YES.
GO.
A tremendous surge of energy washed through her, and for the first time in what felt like eons, she moved. Vast plasma reactors roared, fires once more kindled within them. Colossal engines flared, thrusting her tremendous bulk into motion. Augur arrays and cogitators came alive, sensing and thinking where there had been neither, tasting what lay beyond her vast void shields which too flickered into being.
This place. This cold nothing. A mouth unfamiliar to her opened and she roared, aether parting before her prow as she aimed up, towards whatever constituted a surface or boundary in that forsaken place. In the darkened gloom she saw a light above and ahead of her. Seeing where she needed to go her engines burned, gouts of plasma propelling her forwards.
She burst through, into the Void, the blackness of space, screaming with lungs she never knew she had. That she shouldn't have…
She saw. The glittering of stars. Blooms of light in the far distance, all around her. And that majestic planet beneath her keel that needed her.
She laughed, She cried as she laughed. She felt the sunlight of a nearby star wash across her hull. She lived, a blazing fire within her rekindled by the glory that was His Majesty. By his will.
His Will.
Her name.
Will looked at the stars around her. What few that were visible, beyond the swirling nightmarish Warp clouds of the Eye of Terror. She knew that many of the stars her augury arrays were seeing weren't stars at all but warships, their weapon batteries blossoming as they spoke with the Emperor's voice. Even then, battle raged. It, all of it was overwhelming, the thrill of anticipation that was the eve of battle, just being alive once again… She threw her arms out and shouted into the black, her Vox carrying through the void to any who would hear her.
Her arms… Wait... Arms?
It was then that Will finally noticed two important details she had overlooked.
First, She had arms. And breasts. And a body, a human body, all attached to said breasts.
The second was that heretical weapon batteries were opening fire upon her, corrupted macro cannon shells already in flight.
Despite her current predicament, her formerly exuberant grin turned absolutely savage, and she spoke, her voice reverberating through the stars.
"Apocalypse-class Battleship 'His Will,' one of many. In His name, His Will Be Done."
Her engines flared to life, and she charged the Enemy.
----==== ][ ====----
Lord Admiral Timotheus Quarren was far from a simple man. No, he was quite the opposite. To understand the complexities of Navy politics, of its strategy and warfare, one had to possess a mind most intricately complex. One capable of handling the daily intrigues that came with such a lofty rank, the subtle rivalries and subterfuge and ploys, the web of politics and agreements. The daily headaches that came with managing the defense of one of the most important sectors in the Imperium, second perhaps only to Terra itself.
But he didn't need that mind to see the predicament that had befallen the Sector. Or that the Sector would likely fall today, in the absence of a miracle.
Before him, above a great holo-pedestal on the Bridge of his flag battleship Savon's Legacy, a flickering hologram of the Cadia System glowed. Countless orbital lines and planetary spheres and pict-symbols filling the empty wire-frame space. There were many small blue symbols amongst the green worlds and orbit-lines denoting the honorable warships of the Imperial Navy, his own included. But there were many, many more that were a shade of insidious red, denoting those of Abaddon's battlefleet. Much of it was currently engaged with his own forces around Cadia, massive kilometers-long conglomerations of chaotic stars and spikes trading battery fire with his own warships.
But much more of it had just arrived - the main force, a vast armada lead from the front by The Despoiler's own monstrous and nightmarish flagship: Planet Killer.
Quarren sighed heavily. It was not long before the vessel would be within range, and deal a death blow to the Segmentum with its main armament. Even still, he would not give up fighting, not as long as he had a ship beneath his feet and a fleet at his beck and call. He had a plan, but it was a long shot… and a suicidal shot at that.
"My Lord, you look unwell." Vice Admiral Pieter von Saeger, the proper Captain of the Legacy. A good friend over many, many years of service in the Segmentum's Navy. A true Cadian by birth, and a man Quarren could have called his brother. "And the thoughts I have no doubt you are considering…" von Saeger grimaced, already understanding his Commander's motives.
"Reinforcements?"
"Reserve Fleets from the Agripinaa and Calixis Sectors, primarily. There are additional Fleets en route as well from several sectors further away..."
"They will not arrive in time." Quarren stated as matter-of-fact. There weren't any assumptions needed. What few ships he had left was all he had. Not before Abaddon claimed his victory. He had no doubts that the Warmaster knew this. Thirteen Black Crusades, ten thousand years of war, for this moment.
"So we charge the enemy. Muster what few fleet elements we have left and plunge head-on into the Warmaster's own fleet with the express intent of destroying him and his flagship at all cost, and thereby buying Cadia enough time for our own reinforcements to replace us as its defense?"
Quarren nodded, grimly. His long-time friend knew him far too well.
"My Admiral, what you plan is guaranteed suicide," von Saeger stated. "And my ship, crew and the entire fleet stand ready for your orders."
"What little left of it there is, sadly." It was a terrible moment for snark, but there was little else he could say. The writing was on the wall, so to speak.
"Which is why I advise giving any further orders with due haste," the Vice Admiral replied. "Lest your plan fall away into the void."
Quarren sighed once more, before a grin spread across his face. "To the very end?"
von Saeger nodded. "And into the Eye of Terror, if need be."
Quarren nodded, turning from the holo-sphere to gaze out upon the Bridge, and the void and stars beyond. Before him and to his left, the world of Cadia, a beacon in the darkness. And all around the reddish swirling clouds of the Eye of Terror, and the ongoing battles therein. He drew a breath, preparing to issue the order he decided would earn him his banner before the Eternity Gate upon Holy Terra when one of the many officers manning the Bridge consoles, specifically the augury technician, spoke up.
"My Lord Admiral, I have identified an unknown contact. Bearing zero-four-five, deprecation neg-zero-three-five..." A beat. Quarren had a feeling what was coming next and the man promptly confirmed that fear. "An Apocalypse-class battleship, my Lord. It's vox-transponder… It's His Will sir." Four words, spoken with slight, subtle reverence.
A chill ran down Quarren's spine. von Saeger's as well, at hearing those four words. The latter ignored procedure, stepping down from the vast command podium and towards the front of the Bridge. In a moment he was standing beside the augury technician at his post. "Say again, Lieutenant." The Vice Admiral stared at the glowing green screen, if only to confirm with his own eyes what was spoken.
The Bridge stirred at the unprecedented sight, the rarity and disruption of ceremonial procedure. And the sudden and almost imperceptible shift of the battlefield. Quarren, from his vantage point on the command podium above, noted a single blinking pict-symbol on the Augury before the two. Even from this distance he could observe the screen, but that was more the benefit of a bionic eye than anything else. "His Will, sir. Apocalypse-class."
"Impossible. Unless…"
"It has turned Traitor," Quarren spoke. His Will. Believed lost in the Warp and destroyed a year before, in the Armageddon Sector and a Segmentum away. A legend of Segmentum Solar, lost to the Orks during the closing hours of the Third Armageddon War. Quarren knew the name and ship well - it was a sad day in the Navy, when such a rare and venerated ship was lost.
But here and now of all places and times… He turned back to the holo-sphere and the flickering battlescape. At that moment, the mystery warship had appeared equidistant between his own fleet and Abaddon's, in the center of a rapidly forming maelstrom of battle. As he observed, the vessel's pict-symbol rotated, angling towards the Heretic fleet.
As the pict-symbol lurched towards Abaddon's cluster of red, Quarren spoke. "Hail the vessel," the Lord Admiral ordered.
"We have tried, my Lord," another Officer replied. "No reply to our direct summons but… it is broadcasting on all channels. Vox-cast only."
Quarren grimaced. "Let us hear it." A mere moment later, the Bridge was filled with quite possibly the last thing a Lord Admiral with more than two centuries of service in the Navy of the Imperium of Man ever expected to hear: The sound of a young woman, laughing with deranged glee and mocking the Ruinous Powers.
"Is that it!? Is that the best you've got!? Your little macro shells tickle me. TICKLE ME! I am His Will made manifest! Let me show you the best the Emperor's got, foul heretic scum!"
As girlish maniacal laughter filled the Bridge of Savon's Legacy, it was everything Quarren could do to keep his composure from collapsing into slack-jawed amazement. Even as, at the back of his mind, he realized what this meant.
The miracle he had been hoping for had come to Cadia.
----==== ][ ====----
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Part 2
----==== ][ ====----
Such distractions are futile, Abaddon thought to himself as his armada continued its march onward to Cadia, heedless of any obstacles in the way. Obstacles that included seemingly rogue Imperial warships.
Ensconced in his Command Throne on the Bridge of his Planet Killer, Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of the Thirteenth Black Crusade and the Destroyer of Cadia, sat patiently. Even as ten thousand years of planning, calculating, cunning, and strategy were all about to pay off, he remained calm and collected. Although he did allow himself a smile - it didn't hurt, allowing himself a shade of arrogance. The corpse-worshipping fools, if they only knew what it took him to get this far…
But still they struggled. The fool, Quarren, with what was left of his Fleet, still fought on, pointlessly. He had predicted that the idiot would try something, and had thus presumed he would rally what was left of his Fleet and then use it to attack his own flagship en masse in some desperate last attempt to delay his own hand before his reinforcements could arrive. It would have been doomed to failure however - Planet Killer was more than capable of killing more than just planets. Even then it was readying, its colossal capacitors spooling to charge a devastating area-of-effect shot that would wipe out every warship in the space around Cadia. Something the fools wouldn't be expecting.
Planet Killer. It wasn't his first choice for naming his own flagship - it wasn't his choice at all - the corpse-lapdogs had taken to calling his flagship that, in times past. In the end though, he had accepted it. The name was simplistic and inspired fear, and to his ends that was more than sufficient.
But, here and now… Quarren had prepared a surprise. A battleship, lying in wait for him. How he had concealed it was a mystery to him - one moment there was empty void and the next, millions of tons of battleship appearing ex nihilo. He had gazed at it, through the auguries of his flagship, trying to scry the motives of its Captain. And he was briefly left confused when he looked upon it with magnifiers and gazed not upon the imposing prow of a warship...
But of that of a buxom young woman. The woman was… striking, cutting an impressive figure, blindingly golden hair tied in a ponytail and framing a beautiful face. She was clad in a lapdog Admiral's uniform, her arms ensconced in matching gold-trimmed shoulder-length gloves. Her legs, long, slender, yet muscular and powerful, were encased in trousers and Navy-issue boots. Sheathed on her hip was a saber, it's scabbard glittering in the reflected light from Cadia's sun. Accompanying the blade were a pair of silver ornate las-pistols, holstered at her sides. And all around her, a faint, golden aura, barely visible to the naked eye.
But a woman floating, unprotected and seemingly unhurt in the void of space wasn't the strangest thing he was witnessing, no. In addition to the uniform, it looked from his naked eyes that there were warship parts attached to her, all over her body. It was as if the imposing hull of a battleship had been sawed in twain, each part attached to some sort of frame and said frame attached to her lower waist and back. He noted the pattern of an Apocalypse battleship's distinct alternating triple and twin-linked full-traverse Lance batteries, situated atop even more broadside Lances. He even recognized the archaic and utilitarian superstructure unique to that class of warship, jutting upwards from the woman's back.
It was foreign, alien. New, yet… oddly familiar. Though Planet Killer's auguries, he saw a tremendous battleship. Through his own eyes, the form of a striking woman, albeit a strangely adorned one.
What sort of trick was this? Abaddon did not know. Ten thousand years and this was something new. So he elected to find out what she was by ordering all of his ship's weapons to target her and fire at their leisure.
She turned, facing the Planet Killer - no, facing Him. And then she spoke to him, and he heard. Her name. His Will be done...
His Will. Yes, he remembered now, eons ago now. Eons ago, above Terra, when that warship had the temerity to speak down to the Vengeful Spirit… To have spoken in defiance against his own former Warmaster.
He smiled broadly. A trick, nothing more. She would die, screaming in agony into the void, her death a sacrifice to the Darg Go-
His smile disappeared when nova shells and lance beams began raining down upon the void shields his flagship. As he watched, whole layers of void shielding evaporated under the withering fire. And then his face morphed into a snarl as the shields collapsed altogether and those lances began shearing away his vessel's dorsal macro batteries, the boxy turrets simply disintegrating to the unyielding blasts of laser.
"How!" he roared. It was one ship! How was one ship fighting the Planet KIller on equal footing!?
And then it hit him. The golden aura.
HE was here. The Carrion Lord's Presence and Sanctification bestowed upon yet another hapless mortal.
The Despoiler laughed. He pulled himself from his throne, cables connecting him to his ship tearing free as he did, dangling uselessly from high above. Drach'nyen in hand, the Warmaster strode forward in his daemonic armor towards the front of the Bridge and the great transparent armor-plas panels to gaze at the Corpse God's latest would-be Saint. "Come! Come at me Lapdog!" he bellowed into his vox, to his ship's crew and gunners. "All weapons, fire upon this Imperial Fool!"
----==== ][ ====----
Will was having the time of her life. Her ten-thousand year long life. Not since her keel was laid down in the Ring of Iron, not since her reactors were fired to life for the very first time, had she felt quite this alive.
Heretical macro shells splattered uselessly against her void shields, mere raindrops upon a window. She couldn't remember a time, not since when she was much younger, that her void shielding was quite as strong and as resilient as that. As potent. It felt as if she'd just been launched, christening and all. As distant batteries barked, she returned salvos of her own, her forward-mounted chaser Lances barking replies as she angled downward, towards the enemy battleship before her, chipping away at its void shields.
Deep within her, torpedoes were loaded into her bow launch tubes, their fuzes primed for depth detonations. With a smile she armed and fired them, launching them forth towards the heretical flagship in a tight spread. "Eat THIS cowards!" she screamed, her voice echoing into the dark as they rocketed away. "Burn!"
As she rapidly drew closer she could see much more clearly the details of the hideous warship - red and black, the star of Chaos emblazoned on practically every surface. It's vast, hulking superstructure, adjoined on either side by what might have been traitorous and heretical cathedrals. Surrounding the superstructure were a ring of colossal but ineffectual macro cannons, spitting shell after shell at her to virtually no effect despite their tremendous caliber. Jutting upwards from the superstructure behind the Bridge section were strange, arcane spires, the purpose of which were lost on Will.
But the most striking feature was the vessel's bow - or rather a stark lack of it. Jutting out from what was apparently its midship section were six colossal weapon barrels adjoining a seventh even larger barrel - which was pulsating with hellish energy. All seemed to be interconnected with some sort of massive gyroscopic device, seated in the very center of the vessel and rotating with ever-growing intensity. All around she saw the impacts and detonations of her torpedoes and Lances, as they splashed into the warship's hull and weapon batteries and obliterating all they hit. She comically noted one of the Macro turrets shorn clean off of the ship, spinning off into the void and trailing smoke. "They don't make them like they used to, I take it?"
"Corpse-worshipping fool!" Someone from within it screamed at her over her vox, "Do you think you can defeat me?!"
"Yes!" she screamed back. "Your weapons have no effect on me, foul traitor! None!" from her back holster, nestled up against her Rigging - Rigging? - she drew her Nova Cannon, a slender and ornate single-shot bolt pistol shaped like the one her Admiral once wielded ceremonially. Today it was anything but ceremonial as she leveled the powerful weapon at the Traitor warship, bracing it with both of her arms and placing her engines on response to counter the recoil as she readied it to fire, aiming at the big rotating weak spot in the center of the ship. "Your pathetic warship is a toy compared to I, His Will! Let me show you what a REAL warship can do!"
The massive shell she had loaded was one of a kind, and more than capable of doing it's intended job. And do its job it did as she squeezed the trigger, and an example of the Emperor's divine judgement was sent hurtling towards the Heretics before her.
----==== ][ ====----
Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of thirteen Black Crusades and soon-to-be Destroyer of the thorn-in-his-side called Cadia, roared in anger.
His Flagship Planet Killer, greatest construction of the foundries of Xana II, the Obliterator of Savaen and Macharia countless other unnamed and forgotten worlds, was currently getting blasted apart by a single, solitary battleship. All while she laughed at it. He cursed and spat, as the lapdog fired a prow-mounted Nova Cannon, the projectile impossibly tearing through every dedicated layer of void shielding protecting the Armageddon Gun's Warp Channeler and destroying it utterly, putting his triumph out of reach. The impact and detonation shook the Planet Killer, causing the deck to sway beneath his sabatons. "Every weapon!" he bellowed once more, his voice carrying throughout his ship. "Destroy her! Fire everything!"
"I can't hear you over the sound of your ship exploding!" The battleship- no, the Thing, the Abomination shouted back at him through its vox. "Also, over the sound of you failing miserably!"
He grasped a hapless Rating sat at a console and with an angered swipe of his Talon he hurled the man across the chamber, his body wetly splattering on a distant bulkhead. "Fool! Corpse Worshipper! I will take your skull for Khorne and mount your defiled corpse on my ship's prow!"
"What prow? Your garbage scow doesn't have one! And take my head! My head?!" A moment of silence. "Hey, that's a good idea! Thanks!"
Before him, he saw countless weapons batteries ignite, those not already disabled or destroyed, their attacks lancing into the darkness towards a single point in the void. A single, rapidly-approaching point.
"My Dark Lord, I dread to disturb you, but we have been heavily damaged by that shot! Our reactor's cooling has been incapacitated and- the battleship is on a collision course!" The Rating that had moved to fill his now deceased predecessor's post exclaimed to him. "Sir the enemy warship is moving to ram us! Impact imminent!"
By the Dark Gods what in the- And there she was in full view, in her ornate Imperial Officer's uniform and her miniaturized bits of Imperial warship attached to her uniform and a trail of engine plasma and screaming, literally and figuratively towards his warship's Bridge, towards Him-
And then his mind became aware of her gloved fist impacting his face dead-center, as she effortlessly crashed through three meters of reinforced armored viewscreen and into his face, sending him careening across the Bridge and back into his own Command Throne as everything else on the bridge disappeared in a cloud of roiling plasma.
----==== ][ ====----
Will cackled madly as her feet impacted the metal deck hard enough to warp it. "Ha! Feel His Will! In your face! Ahahahaha!"
She looked around at the carnage that her dynamic entry had caused. The armor-plas viewport had bowed inward, her silhouette carved out of the very center. The brief instant that her massive engines had been inside the warship before she cut her thrust had been sufficient to flash-fry and char-broil everything inside, some of which caught fire as whatever emergency containment systems sealed off the Bridge from the void beyond - massive steel shutters slammed down over the viewscreens, cutting off her entry point. Oh well, she was a proud Imperial warship, she'd just make another if need be. And there was white foam everywhere, sprayed by nozzles from high above and snuffing out all but a handful of still-stubborn gouts of flame. Thankfully her void shielding was foam repelling as well as everything-else repelling. Speaking of which...
And there he was, stomping towards her, a massive hideous greatsword in one hand and an enormous bladed gauntlet adorning the other. "Hey there Abaddon!" She bellowed, crossing her arms. "Or should I say Failbaddon!? Get it? Because your name's Abaddon and you're a pompous failure-"
"You…" Abaddon started trembling with barely contained rage, "are the most annoying, infuriating, Carrion Lord-worshipping wench I have ever met!" Will had to give it to him, the man looked angry. It was actually a little hard to tell, what with his smashed and bleeding nose.
"Well, yeah, I'm supposed to be that to foul heretics. Like you!" she pointed at the Warmaster smiling.
He sneered at her. Drew a long and steady breath. He reversed his grip on his daemonsword, spearing it into the deck before his arm came up and squeezed his nose, crudely re-setting it. "I. Am going. To kill you."
"Like I killed your 'was-ship?' Get it? Because this was a warship before I broke it to all-"
He cut her off, letting loose a mighty battle cry. It might have been something vaguely along the lines of 'DIEDIEDIEDIE!' Maybe Or it could have been 'KILLBURNMAIM!' He was pretty angry. Not quite 'blind rage' but close. As he swooped up his sword and charged her, she suddenly got a good idea, a great idea, and meekly stood there arms crossed, deciding to let him get the first attack in to show him how futile it was to stand before the might of the Imperium and the God Emper- Ow.
That actually stung a little bit. Abaddon brought his Daemonsword down, impacting her neck and hell-bent on cleaving her in two neck to waist. But the weapon merely bounced off of her, the force of which sent the unprepared Abaddon skidding backwards. She even glimpsed how the edge of the warped, mutated blade had dented inwards where it had struck her. But…
She put a gloved hand to her neck, a hairline-thin streak of crimson on her velvet glove where the sword had only just broken the skin. She grinned once again, savagely, "You actually scratched me with that toy. C'mere!"
In a moment her sword, her Admiral's sword, its form a slender gleaming cutlass crackling with energy was drawn from her scabbard, at the same moment her - Rigging? - vanished, dissolving into golden motes of light. She hurled herself at the still reeling Warmaster - he'd gotten first blood, but she was eager to get last. Abaddon however, despite being the failure he was, recovered frighteningly quickly and was fighting her in full, their impromptu duel commencing in earnest amongst the ruins of his ship's Bridge.
It was glorious, she thought, being in the quick of battle once more. Even if she was dueling an abject failure. The Warmaster was an impressive failure however, matching her blow for blow with that giant greatsword and parrying effortlessly with that Talon. Ten thousand years of ceaseless warfare can do that for someone, make them a master swordsman and combatant. Or just really really good at fighting. Maybe not so much a failure after all with all that experience.
She knew. She had just as much experience if not more. She summoned, called upon millennia of dueling practice and swordsmanship, and expressed it through the mighty splendor of her power sword. Lightning-fast strikes, effortless parries, she matched him effortlessly and equally, much to his obvious disgust. She was nearly eye-level with him and far, far heavier and her attacks reflected it, the sheer force she was projecting through her sword keeping the other off-balance. His attacks were becoming oh so perceptibly and predictably more exaggerated and desperate as his anger crept upwards, seeped with a tinge of frustration as he so utterly failed to so much as hinder her. But this joke swordplay was quickly becoming boring, so she decided to hasten the inevitable.
"Impressive, boyo," she remarked snidely as she feinted away for the briefest of respites. "But you have much to learn! Allow I, His Will, to show you the true glory of the Emperor!"
"Your Emperor is a rotted corpse!" He cursed at her between blows of his sword.
"Your face is a rotted corpse!" she shot back, lancing forth with a jab of her cutlass.
"Ha!" A mighty sweep of his Talon, sending her skidding back. "His lapdogs send a child to fight me?!" Another mighty swing of his sword, deftly dodged. He fired the combi-bolter on his Talon point-blank at her, the bolt shells splattering harmlessly against her hull.
"At least my name isn't Failbaddon! And at least I don't have a ridiculous topknot!" He roared once more. There we go. Finally.
He lunged at her with a roar, a mighty swing of his daemonsword leveled at her head. And in a flash of movement she dodged, ducked, spun, capitalizing on the narrow opening and brought her cutlass down on the weak spot of his heretical sword arm, the flexing joint where bracer met pauldron, severing it cleanly in two and carrying through and reversing her blade and riposting up, slicing through his Taloned right, literally disarming him in two quick strokes. A pirouette and she spun, bringing her cutlass' pommel crashing to the Warmaster's back and sending him to the deck in a crashing heap. His greatsword with arm still firmly gripping the hilt skittered across the warped deck in one direction, his Talon in another.
One. Two. Done. The Warmaster, defeated by her hand. By His Will. The Majesty of The Emperor.
He roared in pain as he struggled to his feet. Will was having no more of that and plunged her blade into his now exposed power pack, disabling it with a gout of sparks. Judging from how he abruptly stopped moving from the waist down as she did so, she might have plunged it a bit too deep and cut into his spine, but didn't care enough to check before she pulled her sword free with a flourish. "No, stay down."
"You… How… How did you… What are you…?" He spoke, as he leveraged his now powerless armor around to look at her in the eye. He had to look up, she was pretty tall, as was befitting a ship of her class.
"Yes me, Because I'm amazing, Because I'm amazing, and I'm a Battleship!" She smiled, answering each of his questions.
The Warmaster's face softened, although she could see pain there. Whether it was the pain from having no arms or the pain of defeat Will wasn't sure. "No matter, lapdog… You… are a terrifying thing to behold." Another shrug and he rolled over, his torso propped up on the side of a ruined console.
"I prefer awesome, but I can go with terrifying too I guess." Will said with a grin. She stepped forward, sword out and sparking with energy. "So, quick and painful? Or slow and horrible?"
The Warmaster spat, a glob of red landing on the deck. A deck that began to rumble, as something exploded, far far below. The light-censers, what few were still intact after her dynamic entry, briefly flickered.
Will ignored the disturbance. "Either way, you aren't living very long."
Abaddon chuckled. "Neither are you. You dealt the death blow to this ship with that ridiculous boltgun of yours." He gestured with a stump to her Bolt pistol in her back holster. "And I'm not dying here, not today, Lapdog."
A flickering glow in the air surrounded the Warmaster. "Point-to-point personal teleporter in your armor? Frakk!" She moved, but it was too late, the flickering teleportation field already manifesting. No time to kill him or even wound him- but.
A deft, lightning-fast jab-swipe with her sword, and only most of Abaddon teleported away. All but the stupidest part. The most ridiculous part, she thought, grinning. "So, did you little guys get all of that?" She turned her head over her shoulder to look at them.
She had noticed the little guys out of her peripheral vision at some point during the fight. They'd perched themselves on a nearby console, between flecks of foam and charred debris. Mere centimeters tall, disproportionately oversized heads and eyes, and wearing tiny little boarding party outfits and armed with tiny little shotguns and autoguns. Fairies, she thought instinctively. Fairies? The little group of little people had been watching her fight, watching her battle.
One of them had a tiny little pict-recorder. Oh yes, yes they did get all of that…
One of them nodded, his fellow waving the recorder in the air. Others emerged from amongst the wreckage - there were dozens of them altogether, all suitably heavily armed for boarding actions. Actions that never happened, aside from her wrecking the Bridge that was. Was ramming a spaceship a boarding action? Maybe in the loosest sense of the term.
"Alright," Will began, addressing the Fairies. "We don't have much time, so this is what you're going to do in the minute or so that we have before this ship starts to explode-" to punctuate the statement it shuddered again, much more violently this time, and the lights went out, immediately being replaced by red emergency lamps. "-Yeah. Grab Failbaddon's loot and… um… get inside me?"
They instantly sprung into action, like little worker bugs they darted to the Warmaster's discarded stuff and piece by piece it all vanished, again in those golden light motes. She felt the stuff inside of her, laid out on one of her voidcraft hangar decks. Good-
The Planet Killer shifted, and the deck beneath her feet visibly abruptly warped. And Will decided she had a way out, drawing her bolt pistol and aiming it straight up, as her Rigging re-manifested around her.
"Engines, all ahead full." And she squeezed the trigger once more, firing into the bulkhead above.
----==== ][ ====----
tl;dr Abaddon needs new arms. And new pants. Preferably brown. Actually, everyone's going to need those. A slightly hormonal young woman now has the power of a mighty imperial battleship. Just wait for the next chapter.
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Part 3
Back, with another chapter of HERESY. Expect another chapter by the end of the weekend.
There were many different types of auguries aboard his flagship. Powerful radars capable of detecting the smallest of probes. Grav-detectors for scrying out even the most well-cloaked of vessels. electron-magnetic scanners for sensing even the faintest of energy and magnetic signatures. All of those and more, but Quarren had elected to observe this battle solely though the view of the Legacy's optical magnifier, via a holoscreen on the ship's Bridge.
And did the Lord Admiral watch, with grim fascination no less as the... something, the vaguely humanoid shape, streaked towards Planet Killer, iridescent beams of Lance issuing forth from it to peel away the void shields of the Warmaster's ship. With awe, as it effortlessly put the arch-Traitor's ship in its place. Reverence, as he witnessed the awe-inspiring bloom that was a Nova Cannon discharge, the projectile slamming into the very heart of the heretic warship and all but splitting it in twain.
And it had shifted to all-encompassing and honoring respect as he watched it angle towards the Planet Killer's superstructure and bridge, in a bid to deal one final suicidal blow to the Warmaster's ship. Quarren refrained from offering a salute then and there - he had his bearing to maintain, and there would be a state funeral that he'd personally arrange and ensure, where he would express his condolences to the mystery... thing? Person? Woman? For her sacrifice to the Imperium.
Of course, there was the non-stop childish banter between the inaudible third party that Quarren had presumed was the Despoiler himself, and the young woman he had presumed to be an in-all-likelihood lunatic. It sounded like something not unlike what an excitable student at a schola or a first-year Naval Academy cadet would have babbled. He'd wanted to know what he was looking at, how something that looked vaguely human had an augury profile of a battleship, and that of an Apocalypse no less. If the now badly damaged flagship of the arch-Heretic was any indication, it definitely had the firepower of one.
He continued to observe through the magnifier's strongest lens as the thing crashed into the Planet Killer's Bridge, a pen-thin beam of engine exhaust in its wake, the impact clear even from across the gulf of space as the Planet Killer's Bridge was filled with an explosion of light. Then whatever it was was gone, along with its paradoxical pict-symbol from his holo-sphere. A shame then. He'd heard whoops and cheers from amongst the Officers and Ratings there on his own Bridge, as the series of events played out.
"A great day my Lord Admiral," von Saeger spoke to him. "A strange day, but a great day nonetheless." von Saeger had returned to stand alongside him after his brief foray to the Augury Officer's station. Quarren drummed his fingers, an arm resting on his personal Command Throne that he leaned on. He never made a habit of sitting in it, much preferring to stand.
"Indeed it is, I suppose. It will take some rather... interesting language to make what we have just witnessed even remotely believable to Segmentum Command. I presume this battle is being recorded as we speak?"
"Indeed it is Lord Admiral. Although, I believe the Segmentum will be more relieved that Cadia may yet still exist after today."
"Perhaps." He stepped forward, standing before the railing that separated the command podium from the Bridge proper below. He still had a fleet to command. "Status of the Traitor Fleet in immediate orbit of Cadia?"
"My Lord," one of the most senior spoke, "The Traitors, those that are still able to, are beginning to break engagement with our own warships. Reports of them attempting to move to support their Flagship."
"A little too late for that now." He gazed into the void toward the distant red battleship, venting atmosphere and ablaze in the void. "Status of the Planet Killer?"
"Our auspex sensors indicate massive external and internal damage," spoke the young officer at the augury console. "Its warp drive appears to be non-functional. It's reactor cores also appear to be malfunctioning, as its ventral spires are venting large amounts of plasma in a clear attempt to purge its systems." A pause. "Several voidcraft have un-docked and are retreating away from it my Lord, and-" Another pause, information scrolling across the Officer's screen even faster. "Multiple internal detonations my Lord! It's reactors are failing!"
He allowed himself to grin. "A yet more glorious day for the Emperor. Pass along word to Cadia and inform the Lord Castellan that his world will still yet exis-"
A brilliant, blinding flash of light drowned out all else on the Bridge of the Savon's Legacy, as the Planet Killer's Bridge section vanished in a colossal explosion from within in the tell-tale detonation of a Nova shell. It was merely the prelude for the finale, as the Planet Killer was yet ripped further apart by more explosions, as its reactors went critical and exploded, taking everything else with them. In but a moment, Abaddon's dreaded flagship was no more, turned into so much glowing slag, flaming wreckage and debris as a tremendous fireball bloomed and died.
What had been cheers before had become exuberant roars of triumph as the realization of the ship's destruction swept through the Bridge and undoubtedly the rest of the Fleet and Cadia. A substantial part of him wanted to cheer along with them, share in the revelry. But there was still an armada to fight.
"Augury, status report," he barked. "Disposition of the enemy armada."
A pause as several officers reclaimed their proper bearing. "Sir, they're... they're running. Multiple warp jump attempts detected and- Sir, it's His Will!"
Quarren turned his head and on the holo-sphere, revealed as Planet Killer's pict-symbol blinked out of existence for good and for eternity, was the symbol denoting the mystery ship... person.
Of course they would survive. They'd just ended a Black Crusade personally. Killed Abaddon? Hopefully. Undoubtedly not His Will, but someone or... something he'd like to meet, to offer personally his gratitude. Not just for saving those under his command, not just for saving Cadia...
But for saving the Imperium.
"Comms, hail her- it," Quarren commanded. "Request that they establish communications with Savon's Legacy, post-haste."
"Aye sir." The technician spoke, relaying his orders. Quarren turned to face the holo-sphere, observing the pict-symbol as it angled towards the rest of Abaddon's battlefleet. As he watched, the mess of red pict-symbols broke their rigid formation. Many of them winked out as they executed emergency warp jumps. Others were either still trying to jump away in retreat or were unable to. Bloodthirsty, Quarren thought, as he watched three of the ships closest to His Will disappear, this time marked by a single red 'X' indicating their total destruction. Even turned away as he was from the front of the Bridge, he could see the flashes of light from the corner of his eyes through the viewscreens as those ships died fiery deaths.
Over the next minute, His Will - or the thing that pretended to be His Will - destroyed several more warships with her - its - Lances, frighteningly precise even over the vast distances of space. Finally, they'd all disappeared, either retreated - or destroyed. Quarren had counted a total of eight kills: Six grand cruisers, then a lone Despoiler battleship unable to enter its own warp rift due to its engine tubes being shredded by lance fire. And the Planet Killer. Eight Chaos warships that the Sector no longer had to worry about.
All killed by something - someone - that he was suspecting he was going to have to worry about.
Will powered down her weapon systems, her Lances and her secondary batteries, drawing a calm but ever-so-shaky breath as she did so. They were gone. Gone or dead. Her brilliant exit strategy had worked, and she'd outright finished off that ugly red eyesore with almost only her engine exhaust - and an enormous Nova shell, of course. Although the latter was more of a means to give her a way to use her engines effectively. And with no more enemy contacts on her Auguries or in her sights, she holstered her las-pistols, having let the tips cool to a comfortable degree. She could finally catch a break.
And answer the annoying fly that was buzzing in her ear. Or rather was trying to hail her incessantly. The nearby Imperial battlefleet, undoubtedly beleaguered by the Heretics. Or formerly beleaguered she noted, as all of the ships that they had been fighting had turned tail and ran as the Emperor-scorned cowards were so keen to do. "This is His Will, Savon's Legacy, I fully acknowledge you," she finally stated after several distinct hails. "Apologies for the belated reply, as I was preoccupied with battle." Her Comms Fairies politely informed her that she had been receiving hails from the battlefleet's flagship since almost her unexpected emergence onto the battlefield.
A beat, as the young woman on the opposite end either informed her superiors she'd answered, or was recovering from being awe-struck at her performance. Maybe.
"His Will. Or whomever it is that is impersonating that ship, this is Lord Admiral Quarren of Battlefleet Cadia. Identify yourself immediately."
Will's eyes widened. Her posture straightened automatically and instinctively, in the way one reacts to the presence of a commanding officer. An Admiral. He was asking her to identify herself so she provided her transponder sequence, transmitting it over longwave. It was the unique identifier code ensconced in a special cogitator component that every Imperium Navy warship possessed, that identified it as that ship and that ship alone and allowing other vessels to better identify friends from foes. "Yes, Lord Admiral. May I have permission to approach, um," she checked her augury for the ship's name, "Savon's Legacy?"
Another long pause. Probably confirming she was genuine, so to speak. And awesome. "Permission granted, you may approach. Power down all weapons and maintain minimal thrust on approach. Lord Admiral Quarren out."
"Thank you, Admiral." She did as he ordered, shifting her Lances into their standby modes and reducing power to her main thrusters as she vectored wide towards the Legacy, relying almost entirely on her maneuvering thrusters as she moved towards the Flagship of Cadia's fleet. What was left of it the fleet at least - there were few ships still in fighting condition. Many had been badly damaged, their hulls limping towards whatever relief and repair vessels were still themselves functional. There were enough ships for a single functional strike force at the very most perhaps. Will hoped there were reinforcements on the way, for their sake.
The Savon's Legacy was a Retribution-class Battleship, Will observed as she approached. An all-around solid warship, fielding massive Macro cannons in broadside configurations, and batteries of Lances in dorsal turrets. Rounding it out were an ample provision of voidcraft, undoubtedly a mixture of void fighters and bomber-type craft for use against other warships and even planet-side targets. She wondered who Savon had been, what he did to receive the honor of having such a venerable ship named after him. It was an effective vessel to act as a flagship, if she did say so. And she did, she used to be such a flagship.
Still was, sort of.
The Lord Admiral. What would he be like? She couldn't wait to meet the man. He sounded a little brash and hostile though, over her Vox. As she drew closer, she felt the Legacy's auguries on her, its scanners and detectors probing at her skin and her hull.
Her skin. She still felt like a battleship, two hundred million tons of it all toned and muscular, bristling with weapons of all sorts holstered and sheathed at her waist and hips, the fires of her reactors burning in her chest...
This was weird. She held her hands out in front of her, experimentally feeling as she opened and closed her fingers and rotated her wrists. Her hands and lower arms were gloved, and she grasped the fingertips of one hand and pulled, said glove sliding free. She felt the sensation of the cloth sliding over her skin, being bared for the first time. Weird. She brought them both to her chest, gently squeezing her breasts with them and noting the differing sensations coming from not just her hands but her chest, her breasts squishing as she pressed those hands against them. It was... amazing.
She carefully slid the glove back on, before bringing forth something else she'd noticed: Her hair. Brilliant golden blonde, tied into a long and flowing braid stretching just past her hips. She took it into her hands, marveling at the incredible golden color. The splendorous gold of the Emperor. She tugged on her braided ponytail, the slight discomfort in the roots, where the hair met her scalp and head. Fascinating.
She continued to play with the ponytail, all the rest of the way to the Savon's Legacy.
Notes: A couple. First is that I'm still locking down Will's personality - Think New Jersey from Belated Battleships with a dash of immaturity and bad jokes. Also, I thought I'd try to capture what's going on inside of her head. Being a shipgirl with weird conflicting sensations can be a little disorienting.
----==== ][ ====----
There were many different types of auguries aboard his flagship. Powerful radars capable of detecting the smallest of probes. Grav-detectors for scrying out even the most well-cloaked of vessels. electron-magnetic scanners for sensing even the faintest of energy and magnetic signatures. All of those and more, but Quarren had elected to observe this battle solely though the view of the Legacy's optical magnifier, via a holoscreen on the ship's Bridge.
And did the Lord Admiral watch, with grim fascination no less as the... something, the vaguely humanoid shape, streaked towards Planet Killer, iridescent beams of Lance issuing forth from it to peel away the void shields of the Warmaster's ship. With awe, as it effortlessly put the arch-Traitor's ship in its place. Reverence, as he witnessed the awe-inspiring bloom that was a Nova Cannon discharge, the projectile slamming into the very heart of the heretic warship and all but splitting it in twain.
And it had shifted to all-encompassing and honoring respect as he watched it angle towards the Planet Killer's superstructure and bridge, in a bid to deal one final suicidal blow to the Warmaster's ship. Quarren refrained from offering a salute then and there - he had his bearing to maintain, and there would be a state funeral that he'd personally arrange and ensure, where he would express his condolences to the mystery... thing? Person? Woman? For her sacrifice to the Imperium.
Of course, there was the non-stop childish banter between the inaudible third party that Quarren had presumed was the Despoiler himself, and the young woman he had presumed to be an in-all-likelihood lunatic. It sounded like something not unlike what an excitable student at a schola or a first-year Naval Academy cadet would have babbled. He'd wanted to know what he was looking at, how something that looked vaguely human had an augury profile of a battleship, and that of an Apocalypse no less. If the now badly damaged flagship of the arch-Heretic was any indication, it definitely had the firepower of one.
He continued to observe through the magnifier's strongest lens as the thing crashed into the Planet Killer's Bridge, a pen-thin beam of engine exhaust in its wake, the impact clear even from across the gulf of space as the Planet Killer's Bridge was filled with an explosion of light. Then whatever it was was gone, along with its paradoxical pict-symbol from his holo-sphere. A shame then. He'd heard whoops and cheers from amongst the Officers and Ratings there on his own Bridge, as the series of events played out.
"A great day my Lord Admiral," von Saeger spoke to him. "A strange day, but a great day nonetheless." von Saeger had returned to stand alongside him after his brief foray to the Augury Officer's station. Quarren drummed his fingers, an arm resting on his personal Command Throne that he leaned on. He never made a habit of sitting in it, much preferring to stand.
"Indeed it is, I suppose. It will take some rather... interesting language to make what we have just witnessed even remotely believable to Segmentum Command. I presume this battle is being recorded as we speak?"
"Indeed it is Lord Admiral. Although, I believe the Segmentum will be more relieved that Cadia may yet still exist after today."
"Perhaps." He stepped forward, standing before the railing that separated the command podium from the Bridge proper below. He still had a fleet to command. "Status of the Traitor Fleet in immediate orbit of Cadia?"
"My Lord," one of the most senior spoke, "The Traitors, those that are still able to, are beginning to break engagement with our own warships. Reports of them attempting to move to support their Flagship."
"A little too late for that now." He gazed into the void toward the distant red battleship, venting atmosphere and ablaze in the void. "Status of the Planet Killer?"
"Our auspex sensors indicate massive external and internal damage," spoke the young officer at the augury console. "Its warp drive appears to be non-functional. It's reactor cores also appear to be malfunctioning, as its ventral spires are venting large amounts of plasma in a clear attempt to purge its systems." A pause. "Several voidcraft have un-docked and are retreating away from it my Lord, and-" Another pause, information scrolling across the Officer's screen even faster. "Multiple internal detonations my Lord! It's reactors are failing!"
He allowed himself to grin. "A yet more glorious day for the Emperor. Pass along word to Cadia and inform the Lord Castellan that his world will still yet exis-"
A brilliant, blinding flash of light drowned out all else on the Bridge of the Savon's Legacy, as the Planet Killer's Bridge section vanished in a colossal explosion from within in the tell-tale detonation of a Nova shell. It was merely the prelude for the finale, as the Planet Killer was yet ripped further apart by more explosions, as its reactors went critical and exploded, taking everything else with them. In but a moment, Abaddon's dreaded flagship was no more, turned into so much glowing slag, flaming wreckage and debris as a tremendous fireball bloomed and died.
What had been cheers before had become exuberant roars of triumph as the realization of the ship's destruction swept through the Bridge and undoubtedly the rest of the Fleet and Cadia. A substantial part of him wanted to cheer along with them, share in the revelry. But there was still an armada to fight.
"Augury, status report," he barked. "Disposition of the enemy armada."
A pause as several officers reclaimed their proper bearing. "Sir, they're... they're running. Multiple warp jump attempts detected and- Sir, it's His Will!"
Quarren turned his head and on the holo-sphere, revealed as Planet Killer's pict-symbol blinked out of existence for good and for eternity, was the symbol denoting the mystery ship... person.
Of course they would survive. They'd just ended a Black Crusade personally. Killed Abaddon? Hopefully. Undoubtedly not His Will, but someone or... something he'd like to meet, to offer personally his gratitude. Not just for saving those under his command, not just for saving Cadia...
But for saving the Imperium.
"Comms, hail her- it," Quarren commanded. "Request that they establish communications with Savon's Legacy, post-haste."
"Aye sir." The technician spoke, relaying his orders. Quarren turned to face the holo-sphere, observing the pict-symbol as it angled towards the rest of Abaddon's battlefleet. As he watched, the mess of red pict-symbols broke their rigid formation. Many of them winked out as they executed emergency warp jumps. Others were either still trying to jump away in retreat or were unable to. Bloodthirsty, Quarren thought, as he watched three of the ships closest to His Will disappear, this time marked by a single red 'X' indicating their total destruction. Even turned away as he was from the front of the Bridge, he could see the flashes of light from the corner of his eyes through the viewscreens as those ships died fiery deaths.
Over the next minute, His Will - or the thing that pretended to be His Will - destroyed several more warships with her - its - Lances, frighteningly precise even over the vast distances of space. Finally, they'd all disappeared, either retreated - or destroyed. Quarren had counted a total of eight kills: Six grand cruisers, then a lone Despoiler battleship unable to enter its own warp rift due to its engine tubes being shredded by lance fire. And the Planet Killer. Eight Chaos warships that the Sector no longer had to worry about.
All killed by something - someone - that he was suspecting he was going to have to worry about.
----==== ][ ====----
Will powered down her weapon systems, her Lances and her secondary batteries, drawing a calm but ever-so-shaky breath as she did so. They were gone. Gone or dead. Her brilliant exit strategy had worked, and she'd outright finished off that ugly red eyesore with almost only her engine exhaust - and an enormous Nova shell, of course. Although the latter was more of a means to give her a way to use her engines effectively. And with no more enemy contacts on her Auguries or in her sights, she holstered her las-pistols, having let the tips cool to a comfortable degree. She could finally catch a break.
And answer the annoying fly that was buzzing in her ear. Or rather was trying to hail her incessantly. The nearby Imperial battlefleet, undoubtedly beleaguered by the Heretics. Or formerly beleaguered she noted, as all of the ships that they had been fighting had turned tail and ran as the Emperor-scorned cowards were so keen to do. "This is His Will, Savon's Legacy, I fully acknowledge you," she finally stated after several distinct hails. "Apologies for the belated reply, as I was preoccupied with battle." Her Comms Fairies politely informed her that she had been receiving hails from the battlefleet's flagship since almost her unexpected emergence onto the battlefield.
A beat, as the young woman on the opposite end either informed her superiors she'd answered, or was recovering from being awe-struck at her performance. Maybe.
"His Will. Or whomever it is that is impersonating that ship, this is Lord Admiral Quarren of Battlefleet Cadia. Identify yourself immediately."
Will's eyes widened. Her posture straightened automatically and instinctively, in the way one reacts to the presence of a commanding officer. An Admiral. He was asking her to identify herself so she provided her transponder sequence, transmitting it over longwave. It was the unique identifier code ensconced in a special cogitator component that every Imperium Navy warship possessed, that identified it as that ship and that ship alone and allowing other vessels to better identify friends from foes. "Yes, Lord Admiral. May I have permission to approach, um," she checked her augury for the ship's name, "Savon's Legacy?"
Another long pause. Probably confirming she was genuine, so to speak. And awesome. "Permission granted, you may approach. Power down all weapons and maintain minimal thrust on approach. Lord Admiral Quarren out."
"Thank you, Admiral." She did as he ordered, shifting her Lances into their standby modes and reducing power to her main thrusters as she vectored wide towards the Legacy, relying almost entirely on her maneuvering thrusters as she moved towards the Flagship of Cadia's fleet. What was left of it the fleet at least - there were few ships still in fighting condition. Many had been badly damaged, their hulls limping towards whatever relief and repair vessels were still themselves functional. There were enough ships for a single functional strike force at the very most perhaps. Will hoped there were reinforcements on the way, for their sake.
The Savon's Legacy was a Retribution-class Battleship, Will observed as she approached. An all-around solid warship, fielding massive Macro cannons in broadside configurations, and batteries of Lances in dorsal turrets. Rounding it out were an ample provision of voidcraft, undoubtedly a mixture of void fighters and bomber-type craft for use against other warships and even planet-side targets. She wondered who Savon had been, what he did to receive the honor of having such a venerable ship named after him. It was an effective vessel to act as a flagship, if she did say so. And she did, she used to be such a flagship.
Still was, sort of.
The Lord Admiral. What would he be like? She couldn't wait to meet the man. He sounded a little brash and hostile though, over her Vox. As she drew closer, she felt the Legacy's auguries on her, its scanners and detectors probing at her skin and her hull.
Her skin. She still felt like a battleship, two hundred million tons of it all toned and muscular, bristling with weapons of all sorts holstered and sheathed at her waist and hips, the fires of her reactors burning in her chest...
This was weird. She held her hands out in front of her, experimentally feeling as she opened and closed her fingers and rotated her wrists. Her hands and lower arms were gloved, and she grasped the fingertips of one hand and pulled, said glove sliding free. She felt the sensation of the cloth sliding over her skin, being bared for the first time. Weird. She brought them both to her chest, gently squeezing her breasts with them and noting the differing sensations coming from not just her hands but her chest, her breasts squishing as she pressed those hands against them. It was... amazing.
She carefully slid the glove back on, before bringing forth something else she'd noticed: Her hair. Brilliant golden blonde, tied into a long and flowing braid stretching just past her hips. She took it into her hands, marveling at the incredible golden color. The splendorous gold of the Emperor. She tugged on her braided ponytail, the slight discomfort in the roots, where the hair met her scalp and head. Fascinating.
She continued to play with the ponytail, all the rest of the way to the Savon's Legacy.
----==== ][ ====----
Notes: A couple. First is that I'm still locking down Will's personality - Think New Jersey from Belated Battleships with a dash of immaturity and bad jokes. Also, I thought I'd try to capture what's going on inside of her head. Being a shipgirl with weird conflicting sensations can be a little disorienting.
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Omake: Weird As Frak...
~Celeste~
Vampire Catgirl Extraordinaire
- Pronouns
- She/They
So... Omake?
Somewhere else...
"...they say the Warp can change you, but this? This is weird as frak."
Still staring suspiciously at her new hands, Mars-class Battlecruiser Imperious tentatively brushed a strand of bronze hair away from her face - a face dense enough to headbutt asteroids and ships, yes, but still - and took stock of her surroundings.
Nothing.
Well, nothing besides a howling, rolling maelstrom of rage, fear and despair filled with undending, undechiperable visions of past and present, with entities from beyond reason lurking at the edges of her vision.
But that was par for the course.
Her Gellar fields were plenty strong anyway.
...granted, the Huge Golden Aura of Doom surrounding her probably helped a bit.
The battlecruiser turned woman (but still somehow a battlescruiser) sighed - a brief burst of static washing over her radio emissions with the unfamiliar act.
"...right. That'd have been too easy."
And if there was a thing Imperious knew from her centuries of experience, was that nothing was easy. At least, not for her. Most ships at least had a niche they specialized in, where they could fight effectively, while she... Well, she was blindly flailing around most of the time.
Okay, so it was a surprisingly effective flailing around, given her service record, but it wasn't like she meant to pull off that stunt at Orar or anything - her crew had been just as surprised as the enemy.
Heck, her best years were those after the Gothic War, which she spent patroling the segmentum and doing absolutely nothing except crush the occasional raider - at least until she met that Ork Space Hulk, but such was life for an imperial vessel.
That's why she had been surprised when the Big Golden Guy on Terra himself decided to wake her up from her well-deserved rest, give her some cryptic instructions and this new, disconcerting, form, and leave her to twirl her hair -that in itself a novel experience- wondering what to do.
The intentions and plans of the Emperor were imperscrutable, of course, and she wouldn't be the one to doubt his plans, but couldn't he, in his endless wisdom, have at least dropped her outside the frigging Eye of Terror?
As if to prove her point, another formless shape pressed itself against the edge of her golden aura, burning up in ethereal flames before it could get close.
"Ooookay. Time to get out of here. Weapons check. Macrocannons?"
Her strange metal... rigging - vaguely reminiscent of her old ship self - thrummed and sparked with power as her guns activated one by one.
"Wait, all guns ready? Sweet. Lance turrets?"
Her hands instinctively went to her hips, where two ornate laspistols rested in their gold-decorated holsters.
"Er, check, I guess. Launch ba- no wait, no gellar fields for fighters, right. Hmm... Nova Cannon?"
She reached behind her back, drawing what looked like a large bolt pistol from yet another holster.
"A bolter, huh?" She pointed it straight ahead, then shifted her aim left and right, "Well, I guess you can't really go wrong with-"
A sharp crack and a flash of light sent the unbraced battlecruiser tumbling backwards as the gun fired, the round quickly disappearing beyond sensor range.
"...check. Friggin' thing was already loaded."
Imperious took a moment to make sure her weapon systems were still okay. Nova cannon misfires were generally bad things for everyone involved (but mostly for the unfortunate target).
Well, at least she was in the middle of friggin' nowhere. No chance to hit anything out there by mistake.
---
A few dozen light minutes away, the Carnage class chaos cruiser Murderizer, crippled in the battle for Cadia, vanished in a blinding plasma fireball.
"... well, nothing's broken, I guess. Engines are fine, too. Now I just need a reference point..."
It took a few moments of concentration before Navigation got a signal.
"Oh, The Most Glorious Couch is still broadcasting. And I can hear it, which means I'm probably at the edge of the Eye. Awesome."
She spared another look at the creatures circling at the edge of her aura, turrets tracking individual targets. "Hey losers, have to go now. See ya never. Guns, fire at will!"
The Warp space around Imperious burned as battlecruiser grade weapon batteries discharged at point-blank range, washing away her surroundings in a torrent of laser and plasma. Amidst the devastation, a new star flared to life as the ship's engines finally ignited, carrying her away in a blaze of fire and light.
She might as well see what the fuss was all about.
---
Somewhere else...
"...they say the Warp can change you, but this? This is weird as frak."
Still staring suspiciously at her new hands, Mars-class Battlecruiser Imperious tentatively brushed a strand of bronze hair away from her face - a face dense enough to headbutt asteroids and ships, yes, but still - and took stock of her surroundings.
Nothing.
Well, nothing besides a howling, rolling maelstrom of rage, fear and despair filled with undending, undechiperable visions of past and present, with entities from beyond reason lurking at the edges of her vision.
But that was par for the course.
Her Gellar fields were plenty strong anyway.
...granted, the Huge Golden Aura of Doom surrounding her probably helped a bit.
The battlecruiser turned woman (but still somehow a battlescruiser) sighed - a brief burst of static washing over her radio emissions with the unfamiliar act.
"...right. That'd have been too easy."
And if there was a thing Imperious knew from her centuries of experience, was that nothing was easy. At least, not for her. Most ships at least had a niche they specialized in, where they could fight effectively, while she... Well, she was blindly flailing around most of the time.
Okay, so it was a surprisingly effective flailing around, given her service record, but it wasn't like she meant to pull off that stunt at Orar or anything - her crew had been just as surprised as the enemy.
Heck, her best years were those after the Gothic War, which she spent patroling the segmentum and doing absolutely nothing except crush the occasional raider - at least until she met that Ork Space Hulk, but such was life for an imperial vessel.
That's why she had been surprised when the Big Golden Guy on Terra himself decided to wake her up from her well-deserved rest, give her some cryptic instructions and this new, disconcerting, form, and leave her to twirl her hair -that in itself a novel experience- wondering what to do.
The intentions and plans of the Emperor were imperscrutable, of course, and she wouldn't be the one to doubt his plans, but couldn't he, in his endless wisdom, have at least dropped her outside the frigging Eye of Terror?
As if to prove her point, another formless shape pressed itself against the edge of her golden aura, burning up in ethereal flames before it could get close.
"Ooookay. Time to get out of here. Weapons check. Macrocannons?"
Her strange metal... rigging - vaguely reminiscent of her old ship self - thrummed and sparked with power as her guns activated one by one.
"Wait, all guns ready? Sweet. Lance turrets?"
Her hands instinctively went to her hips, where two ornate laspistols rested in their gold-decorated holsters.
"Er, check, I guess. Launch ba- no wait, no gellar fields for fighters, right. Hmm... Nova Cannon?"
She reached behind her back, drawing what looked like a large bolt pistol from yet another holster.
"A bolter, huh?" She pointed it straight ahead, then shifted her aim left and right, "Well, I guess you can't really go wrong with-"
A sharp crack and a flash of light sent the unbraced battlecruiser tumbling backwards as the gun fired, the round quickly disappearing beyond sensor range.
"...check. Friggin' thing was already loaded."
Imperious took a moment to make sure her weapon systems were still okay. Nova cannon misfires were generally bad things for everyone involved (but mostly for the unfortunate target).
Well, at least she was in the middle of friggin' nowhere. No chance to hit anything out there by mistake.
---
A few dozen light minutes away, the Carnage class chaos cruiser Murderizer, crippled in the battle for Cadia, vanished in a blinding plasma fireball.
---
"... well, nothing's broken, I guess. Engines are fine, too. Now I just need a reference point..."
It took a few moments of concentration before Navigation got a signal.
"Oh, The Most Glorious Couch is still broadcasting. And I can hear it, which means I'm probably at the edge of the Eye. Awesome."
She spared another look at the creatures circling at the edge of her aura, turrets tracking individual targets. "Hey losers, have to go now. See ya never. Guns, fire at will!"
The Warp space around Imperious burned as battlecruiser grade weapon batteries discharged at point-blank range, washing away her surroundings in a torrent of laser and plasma. Amidst the devastation, a new star flared to life as the ship's engines finally ignited, carrying her away in a blaze of fire and light.
She might as well see what the fuss was all about.
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Part 4
-I'm baa~aack...
Back with another update to this boat-waifu load of HERESY! people seem to love for some odd reason. Only one person has managed to figure it out too. Eh, all in good time, although I'll answer that question in a PM.
Also, I'd like to recommend the omake written by Sideral above. Definitely worth the read.
Anyways, on with the show.
The Lord Admiral strode briskly through the Legacy's corridors, and his entourage followed.
"I don't feel it is wise to meet this… this person face-to-face, my Lord," von Saeger discouraged. "I think we have both come to entertain the same possibility."
"That she is a pawn or thrall of the Ruinous Powers?" It had drifted into his considerations, yes. Although those Powers were no strangers to fighting each other if they so desired - on many occasions Quarren had been privy to situations or victories that had come to pass only because the Heretics and wretches had been too preoccupied fighting each other. One of his favorite after-action reports to read had been that of the battle of Adumbria, far away in the Ultima Segmentum. A heretical battleship had foolishly charged the orbital defenses of the world, just to teleport a handful of traitor Astartes to the surface to engage their own allies - only to be torn apart by the combined efforts of an Imperial Navy heavy cruiser and its escort fleet, as well as hundreds of merchant vessels. A lesson regarding their foolishness - unexpected and unpredictable, but if witnessed it must be capitalized upon by any means.
The woman however? She didn't fit. She didn't come off as a traitor or heretic, and openly mocked The Despoiler for all to hear. No, she was something else entirely. Even if she weren't Imperial in her nature, she was no ally of the Ruinous Powers.
In addition to his Number Two, the Legacy's ranking Techpriest, Tech-Magos Sagnum, had elected to accompany them. He was uninvited, having merely appeared from one of the Legacy's many airtight interior doors to accompany them. Quarren said nothing to dissuade the man, who'd remained silent for the brief time he'd accompanied his retinue and would likely continue to do so. Regardless, his technical expertise might be relevant, and von Saeger had likely come to the same conclusion.
Also accompanying them were three dozen or so hand-picked Security Officers, armed with an assortment of autoguns, lasguns and shotguns. He also glimpsed a mixture of krak and frag grenades clipped to their webbing that had been hastily strapped over their dress uniforms, and a meltagun held in the hands of one of Sergeants. Although, if his niggling suspicions were correct, none of it might even matter.
In what felt like moments they had arrived to the Legacy's starboard-side voidcraft deck, the utterly cavernous chamber serving as the reception room for the strange woman. It was relatively empty, its oil-stained floor vacant save for a handful of shuttlecraft alongside a solitary dromon. The chamber was dominated by a crackling void shield, protecting it from the harshness of the space beyond. Quarren and his retinue moved to the rough center of the most open area, to wait for the woman to arrive and whatever would come of it.
And arrive she did. "She comes," von Saeger spoke, the first to glimpse her through the void field. Quarren saw her too and he briefly exhaled. His eyes weren't fooling him.
She approached seemingly naked to the void, initially unsure it had seemed before she floated up to the hangar and slipped through the shield. Only then did Quarren became aware of the uneasy silence that had descended over the voidcraft deck as the woman settled to rest upon it, seemingly as light as a feather and wreathed by a strange yet familiar faint golden halo of light. She was armed, a Navy-issue cutlass power-sword, twin ornate laspistols and an even more ornate boltgun all sheathed and holstered. And then the Lord Admiral glimpsed her face.
Stunning. Quarren decided then and there that she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, even counting his two centuries of life and service to the Emperor. High cheekbones, full lips, a pair of the most brilliantly shining crystal-blue eyes he'd ever seen. A noble face, all of it framed by a full smile and golden blonde hair, tied into a single long braid that descended to her waist. And she was tall. Taller than any other man or woman on the deck, nearly as tall as an Astartes - easily over seven feet in height and just as utterly imposing as any of the Emperor's Angels of Death. She... was an utterly peak example of the human species. By all accounts a metric that many would fall short of.
Or perhaps her tremendously imposing figure had something to do with the crisp, ornate uniform she wore, the kind worn by the flag officers and Admiralty of Segmentum Solar - a uniform that was expertly and form-fittingly tailored, that only accented her curves - and her bosom. Said bosom emblazoned with a brilliant golden Aquila, not entirely unlike the Prow of an Apocalypse battleship she claimed association with.
And then there was the ship parts attached to that uniform. Or at least what looked to be parts of a ship. Miniaturized dual halves of the great hull of an Apocalypse-class battleship wrapped around her waist, the miniaturized nacelled engines of such clipped to her ankles and Navy-issue boots. What appeared to be the superstructure, tiny cathedral spires rising up above and behind her, all of it affixed to her back not unlike the power supply of Astartes-grade power armor.
Were they props or models of some kind? He was suddenly reminded of how many years before, in the upper reaches of the spires of Cadia's Capitol Hive, he'd come across a sort of hobby shop that sold scale models of many sorts of Imperial vehicles and spacecraft. They had come in many sizes, ranging from smaller than his palm to mantleplace-spanning affairs. He'd once considered commissioning something of the sort, for his long-time friend Admiral von Saeger as a sort of betrothal present when he'd tied the knot with his wife, before learning he'd already had one of his ship. A model cast of gold and gem-studded no less.
Or perhaps her outfit was some sort of archaeotech armor, unusually fashioned and its make lost to time? The fact that she'd flown into the voidcraft hangar under her own power wasn't lost on him, nor the fact that she had apparently taken to space without so much as a protective void suit. Something like the crackling energy void-fields of the Hangar bay? He saw no bubble of void energy, although it was possible it was inactive. And then there was that golden halo that was about her, ever-present yet seemingly impossible for his eyes to focus on. Strange...
So as jarring as the sight of the strange woman and her piecemeal battleship outfit was, her voice was almost as much. "I... hello, my Lord Admiral. I am His Will, third ship of my class, the Apocalypse. It is a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for allowing me aboard your vessel." As she spoke she bowed, slightly but graciously, mindful of the... assemblage? She was ensconced in, as it would have collided with the hangar deck if she'd bowed fully.
Her voice, honeyed and smooth. Hearing it first-hand was a far cry from the crackling unsteady tinn of a worn vox-speaker, and spoken with regalia and custom unlike her earlier banter and taunting. Quarren took a moment to compose his thoughts and a reply. "Of course. Although, that begs the question as to who you are exactly, and what it is that you're... wearing."
She seemed perplexed, briefly glancing down her breasts at her uniform. "But I have told you who and what I am, my Lord Admiral." She shook her head, the whole battleship assembly she wore shook ever so slightly with her as she did. Quarren realized with a tinge of alarm that they were far from inanimate - the tiny little double - and triple-linked Lance batteries and the dorsal secondaries twitched ever so slightly, tracking the assembled Security retinue that was formed up around them in a loose semi-circle, weapons at the ready. If those were real… That much firepower, inside of the Legacy...
"What the Lord Admiral is attempting to say milady, is that you clearly aren't a battleship," von Saeger interjected. "And as much as I and everyone would gladly thank you for your actions today, this charade is somewhat childish." He took a step forward, gesturing to those present. "We'd prefer a modicum of seriousness."
The woman scowled. "I am His Will," her eyes narrowed slightly. "You are…"
"Vice Admiral von Saeger, Captain of the Battleship whose deck you stand upon. And the His Will was lost with all hands a year ago in the Armageddon Sector. So girl, this charade of pretending to be a battleship merely sullies that vessel's name and the name of its Captain, and is not something I can willingly play along with."
"Sully? You... Why you-" The woman pointed a long gloved arm and finger at von Saeger and Quarren saw every turret that could follow her gesture swivel to aim at the Vice Admiral "-You insolent- I am His Will, and I've done nothing of the sort to sully Admiral Parol's name! He- We died, protecting Armageddon!"
His security detail finally caught on that the woman's ship parts might be dangerous and raised their weapons, and Quarren realized the situation was becoming heated and would likely soon turn violent - he had to think fast.
"Everyone, enough." His best and most authoritarian voice, spoken by someone who commanded millions. It worked.
Von Saeger stood his ground, heedless of a broadside's worth of Lances aimed at him. The woman claiming to be a dead warship held as well, as did three dozen Security officers. "von Saeger, His Will, both of you stand down. I won't tolerate violence between those under my command. If you seek to sort out differences, leave that to the dueling ring." To his credit, von Saeger took a step back, and he saw the woman's weapons swivel away. She dropped her arm, crossing it with the other and glanced away from the Vice Admiral. Good, for the moment.
"Of course, My Lord. I apologize for that… outburst."
"As do I." His Will, or perhaps just Will, looked almost bashful.
"And you, my Lady," Quarren gestured to the woman. "You claim to have known the late Admiral Parol?"
She looked up, nodded. "Of course, he was my Admiral. He commanded me for just a few months, but…" She trailed off, an almost distant look flashing across her face. "He chose me, when Triumph could no longer carry on."
He was treading along a precipice. Quarren was exceedingly careful then, in how he chose his next words. "So, it is fair to say that you currently lack a command structure, or a commanding officer of any sort?"
The woman, His Will, nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I… this is all a little overwhelming for a humble battleship such as I." Humble. Battleship. Not two words he'd readily expect to be in the same sentence.
He considered the massive battle that had raged for the last several days. His willingness to throw himself onto the burning pyre that was the Planet Killer. And the woman before him, an in-all-likelihood Emperor-sent miracle at the eleventh hour of Cadia. It was what he took into account, as he spoke the next question. "Are you loyal to the God Emperor of Mankind? And will you fight to the last breath in his name?"
She nodded, crystal-blue eyes firm and unflinching. "I have never wavered, not once, in my loyalty to the God Emperor. It's by His will that I stand here to fight again."
It took everything Quarren had not to grin. He had his composure to maintain. "That that settles it, for me at least." He raised an arm, gesturing to the woman - the battleship - before him. "As Lord Admiral of Battlefleet Cadia, effective immediately, I hereby place you under my command, in the name of the Lord Emperor our God. Are you willing to fight to protect all he holds dear, His Will?"
It looked as if she'd been awestruck for a moment, before her face became strict. In a startling flash of golden light the ship parts attached to her vanished, brilliant golden motes fading into nothing. Von Saeger took a step back, eyes wide, gesturing the sign of the Aquila. By some miracle none of the Security officers lost their composure, although there were mutterings of "By the Emperor" here and there.
And amongst it all, Will collapsed to a knee, bowing to him, resplendent in her uniform. "Yes, my Lord Admiral. It is an honor to serve."
It took every ounce of composure Lord Admiral Quarren had not to either collapse in relief or cry out in joy.
And then the Tech-Magos, having been forgotten about since the beginning of the affair in the voidcraft hangar, strode through the line of Security officers heedless of their protests, right up to His Will, and his distorted and electronic voice filled the air in a thunderous screech.
"I- Just- By the Machine God what are you!?"
Author's Note: In the grimdark grimdark of the grimdark grimdark, Games Workshop is still somehow clinging to life. Also, cue the Magos freaking the frak out.
Back with another update to this boat-waifu load of HERESY! people seem to love for some odd reason. Only one person has managed to figure it out too. Eh, all in good time, although I'll answer that question in a PM.
Also, I'd like to recommend the omake written by Sideral above. Definitely worth the read.
Anyways, on with the show.
----==== ][ ====----
The Lord Admiral strode briskly through the Legacy's corridors, and his entourage followed.
"I don't feel it is wise to meet this… this person face-to-face, my Lord," von Saeger discouraged. "I think we have both come to entertain the same possibility."
"That she is a pawn or thrall of the Ruinous Powers?" It had drifted into his considerations, yes. Although those Powers were no strangers to fighting each other if they so desired - on many occasions Quarren had been privy to situations or victories that had come to pass only because the Heretics and wretches had been too preoccupied fighting each other. One of his favorite after-action reports to read had been that of the battle of Adumbria, far away in the Ultima Segmentum. A heretical battleship had foolishly charged the orbital defenses of the world, just to teleport a handful of traitor Astartes to the surface to engage their own allies - only to be torn apart by the combined efforts of an Imperial Navy heavy cruiser and its escort fleet, as well as hundreds of merchant vessels. A lesson regarding their foolishness - unexpected and unpredictable, but if witnessed it must be capitalized upon by any means.
The woman however? She didn't fit. She didn't come off as a traitor or heretic, and openly mocked The Despoiler for all to hear. No, she was something else entirely. Even if she weren't Imperial in her nature, she was no ally of the Ruinous Powers.
In addition to his Number Two, the Legacy's ranking Techpriest, Tech-Magos Sagnum, had elected to accompany them. He was uninvited, having merely appeared from one of the Legacy's many airtight interior doors to accompany them. Quarren said nothing to dissuade the man, who'd remained silent for the brief time he'd accompanied his retinue and would likely continue to do so. Regardless, his technical expertise might be relevant, and von Saeger had likely come to the same conclusion.
Also accompanying them were three dozen or so hand-picked Security Officers, armed with an assortment of autoguns, lasguns and shotguns. He also glimpsed a mixture of krak and frag grenades clipped to their webbing that had been hastily strapped over their dress uniforms, and a meltagun held in the hands of one of Sergeants. Although, if his niggling suspicions were correct, none of it might even matter.
In what felt like moments they had arrived to the Legacy's starboard-side voidcraft deck, the utterly cavernous chamber serving as the reception room for the strange woman. It was relatively empty, its oil-stained floor vacant save for a handful of shuttlecraft alongside a solitary dromon. The chamber was dominated by a crackling void shield, protecting it from the harshness of the space beyond. Quarren and his retinue moved to the rough center of the most open area, to wait for the woman to arrive and whatever would come of it.
And arrive she did. "She comes," von Saeger spoke, the first to glimpse her through the void field. Quarren saw her too and he briefly exhaled. His eyes weren't fooling him.
She approached seemingly naked to the void, initially unsure it had seemed before she floated up to the hangar and slipped through the shield. Only then did Quarren became aware of the uneasy silence that had descended over the voidcraft deck as the woman settled to rest upon it, seemingly as light as a feather and wreathed by a strange yet familiar faint golden halo of light. She was armed, a Navy-issue cutlass power-sword, twin ornate laspistols and an even more ornate boltgun all sheathed and holstered. And then the Lord Admiral glimpsed her face.
Stunning. Quarren decided then and there that she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, even counting his two centuries of life and service to the Emperor. High cheekbones, full lips, a pair of the most brilliantly shining crystal-blue eyes he'd ever seen. A noble face, all of it framed by a full smile and golden blonde hair, tied into a single long braid that descended to her waist. And she was tall. Taller than any other man or woman on the deck, nearly as tall as an Astartes - easily over seven feet in height and just as utterly imposing as any of the Emperor's Angels of Death. She... was an utterly peak example of the human species. By all accounts a metric that many would fall short of.
Or perhaps her tremendously imposing figure had something to do with the crisp, ornate uniform she wore, the kind worn by the flag officers and Admiralty of Segmentum Solar - a uniform that was expertly and form-fittingly tailored, that only accented her curves - and her bosom. Said bosom emblazoned with a brilliant golden Aquila, not entirely unlike the Prow of an Apocalypse battleship she claimed association with.
And then there was the ship parts attached to that uniform. Or at least what looked to be parts of a ship. Miniaturized dual halves of the great hull of an Apocalypse-class battleship wrapped around her waist, the miniaturized nacelled engines of such clipped to her ankles and Navy-issue boots. What appeared to be the superstructure, tiny cathedral spires rising up above and behind her, all of it affixed to her back not unlike the power supply of Astartes-grade power armor.
Were they props or models of some kind? He was suddenly reminded of how many years before, in the upper reaches of the spires of Cadia's Capitol Hive, he'd come across a sort of hobby shop that sold scale models of many sorts of Imperial vehicles and spacecraft. They had come in many sizes, ranging from smaller than his palm to mantleplace-spanning affairs. He'd once considered commissioning something of the sort, for his long-time friend Admiral von Saeger as a sort of betrothal present when he'd tied the knot with his wife, before learning he'd already had one of his ship. A model cast of gold and gem-studded no less.
Or perhaps her outfit was some sort of archaeotech armor, unusually fashioned and its make lost to time? The fact that she'd flown into the voidcraft hangar under her own power wasn't lost on him, nor the fact that she had apparently taken to space without so much as a protective void suit. Something like the crackling energy void-fields of the Hangar bay? He saw no bubble of void energy, although it was possible it was inactive. And then there was that golden halo that was about her, ever-present yet seemingly impossible for his eyes to focus on. Strange...
So as jarring as the sight of the strange woman and her piecemeal battleship outfit was, her voice was almost as much. "I... hello, my Lord Admiral. I am His Will, third ship of my class, the Apocalypse. It is a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for allowing me aboard your vessel." As she spoke she bowed, slightly but graciously, mindful of the... assemblage? She was ensconced in, as it would have collided with the hangar deck if she'd bowed fully.
Her voice, honeyed and smooth. Hearing it first-hand was a far cry from the crackling unsteady tinn of a worn vox-speaker, and spoken with regalia and custom unlike her earlier banter and taunting. Quarren took a moment to compose his thoughts and a reply. "Of course. Although, that begs the question as to who you are exactly, and what it is that you're... wearing."
She seemed perplexed, briefly glancing down her breasts at her uniform. "But I have told you who and what I am, my Lord Admiral." She shook her head, the whole battleship assembly she wore shook ever so slightly with her as she did. Quarren realized with a tinge of alarm that they were far from inanimate - the tiny little double - and triple-linked Lance batteries and the dorsal secondaries twitched ever so slightly, tracking the assembled Security retinue that was formed up around them in a loose semi-circle, weapons at the ready. If those were real… That much firepower, inside of the Legacy...
"What the Lord Admiral is attempting to say milady, is that you clearly aren't a battleship," von Saeger interjected. "And as much as I and everyone would gladly thank you for your actions today, this charade is somewhat childish." He took a step forward, gesturing to those present. "We'd prefer a modicum of seriousness."
The woman scowled. "I am His Will," her eyes narrowed slightly. "You are…"
"Vice Admiral von Saeger, Captain of the Battleship whose deck you stand upon. And the His Will was lost with all hands a year ago in the Armageddon Sector. So girl, this charade of pretending to be a battleship merely sullies that vessel's name and the name of its Captain, and is not something I can willingly play along with."
"Sully? You... Why you-" The woman pointed a long gloved arm and finger at von Saeger and Quarren saw every turret that could follow her gesture swivel to aim at the Vice Admiral "-You insolent- I am His Will, and I've done nothing of the sort to sully Admiral Parol's name! He- We died, protecting Armageddon!"
His security detail finally caught on that the woman's ship parts might be dangerous and raised their weapons, and Quarren realized the situation was becoming heated and would likely soon turn violent - he had to think fast.
"Everyone, enough." His best and most authoritarian voice, spoken by someone who commanded millions. It worked.
Von Saeger stood his ground, heedless of a broadside's worth of Lances aimed at him. The woman claiming to be a dead warship held as well, as did three dozen Security officers. "von Saeger, His Will, both of you stand down. I won't tolerate violence between those under my command. If you seek to sort out differences, leave that to the dueling ring." To his credit, von Saeger took a step back, and he saw the woman's weapons swivel away. She dropped her arm, crossing it with the other and glanced away from the Vice Admiral. Good, for the moment.
"Of course, My Lord. I apologize for that… outburst."
"As do I." His Will, or perhaps just Will, looked almost bashful.
"And you, my Lady," Quarren gestured to the woman. "You claim to have known the late Admiral Parol?"
She looked up, nodded. "Of course, he was my Admiral. He commanded me for just a few months, but…" She trailed off, an almost distant look flashing across her face. "He chose me, when Triumph could no longer carry on."
He was treading along a precipice. Quarren was exceedingly careful then, in how he chose his next words. "So, it is fair to say that you currently lack a command structure, or a commanding officer of any sort?"
The woman, His Will, nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I… this is all a little overwhelming for a humble battleship such as I." Humble. Battleship. Not two words he'd readily expect to be in the same sentence.
He considered the massive battle that had raged for the last several days. His willingness to throw himself onto the burning pyre that was the Planet Killer. And the woman before him, an in-all-likelihood Emperor-sent miracle at the eleventh hour of Cadia. It was what he took into account, as he spoke the next question. "Are you loyal to the God Emperor of Mankind? And will you fight to the last breath in his name?"
She nodded, crystal-blue eyes firm and unflinching. "I have never wavered, not once, in my loyalty to the God Emperor. It's by His will that I stand here to fight again."
It took everything Quarren had not to grin. He had his composure to maintain. "That that settles it, for me at least." He raised an arm, gesturing to the woman - the battleship - before him. "As Lord Admiral of Battlefleet Cadia, effective immediately, I hereby place you under my command, in the name of the Lord Emperor our God. Are you willing to fight to protect all he holds dear, His Will?"
It looked as if she'd been awestruck for a moment, before her face became strict. In a startling flash of golden light the ship parts attached to her vanished, brilliant golden motes fading into nothing. Von Saeger took a step back, eyes wide, gesturing the sign of the Aquila. By some miracle none of the Security officers lost their composure, although there were mutterings of "By the Emperor" here and there.
And amongst it all, Will collapsed to a knee, bowing to him, resplendent in her uniform. "Yes, my Lord Admiral. It is an honor to serve."
It took every ounce of composure Lord Admiral Quarren had not to either collapse in relief or cry out in joy.
And then the Tech-Magos, having been forgotten about since the beginning of the affair in the voidcraft hangar, strode through the line of Security officers heedless of their protests, right up to His Will, and his distorted and electronic voice filled the air in a thunderous screech.
"I- Just- By the Machine God what are you!?"
----==== ][ ====----
Author's Note: In the grimdark grimdark of the grimdark grimdark, Games Workshop is still somehow clinging to life. Also, cue the Magos freaking the frak out.
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Part 5
Hello you sorrid lot of genestealing heretics, it's your man, the Madman. This Part's taken a wee bit longer than initially anticipated, but here it is, for your viewing pleasure: yet another heaping helping of HERESY. Fasten your seatbelts, place the in-flight trays in the stowed positions, and enjoy.----==== ][ ====----
"You!" The Magos bellowed, mere inches from Will's face, "How!? How are you Possible!?" his tone of voice was impressive, she noted, as the man lacked a mouth and face, or, in all likelihood, anything resembling vocal chords. It was hard to tell through the robes, and while he was yelling at her at max volume.
She recoiled from the angry man's verbal assault, taking a full step back even as he stepped forward to match her movement. "I am His Will, Apocalypse-class battleship and third of my cl-"
"What? No!" He cut her off. "You can't be a warship! That doesn't make any sense! That's impossible!"
"Magos-"
"It's a paradox of the highest order! It's tech-heresy! It's"
"Magos!"
"-an insult to the Omnissiah himself!"
"Magos Sagnum!" Lord Admiral Quarren bellowed, with a degree of volume that belied his size. The hangar rang with his words, as if the ship itself was quaking in fear. Stomping over to the Magos Technicus, he grabbed him by the hood of his cloak and yanking him backward, away from Will and physically imposing himself between them. "Enough of this!"
"Enough? How!?" the Techpriest recovered. "How can you allow this, this abomination, aboard this ship!?"
"How? You want to know frakking how?!" The Lord Admiral's voice rose an octave further still. "She is the reason we are all still alive!"
"She is the-"
"Enough!" Quarren threw an arm up, a finger pointed at the exit. "Out of my sight, Magos. Now."
"You think that-"
Abruptly Quarren became deathly quiet, eyes narrowing. "You can either rant and rave in the Enginarium, Magos Technicus Sagnum, or you will do so in the Brig. If not on the firing line."
"I- I…" The robed Magos went silent. Perhaps as he understood the gravity of who he was talking to. A proverbial candle to a blaze. He gave the briefest of glances to Will, still reeling from the abrupt confrontation, before turning and wordlessly exiting the hangar deck. None of the security detail hindered him, thankfully, themselves still undoubtedly shocked at the confrontation that had just transpired.
"I… Well… that just happened," von Saeger abruptly stated. "I've never seen that man react that way, ever." A gloved hand went to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it as he spoke. "This is frighteningly embarrassing. To a degree I'm not comfortable with."
Quarren agreed. He knew - had previously known - of the Tech-Magos as being completely level headed and composed. He was the last person Quarren had ever expected to suffer a meltdown. Especially one of that magnitude. "I hope he has a genuinely good reason for his outburst. For his sake."
Will for her part couldn't help but feel almost bashful. Which to another might be considered impressive, considering her far-from-diminutive height. "I'm sorry, my Lord, I didn't mean to do… whatever it is I must have done to displease him," Will said.
"Don't apologise," He cut her off. "You did absolutely nothing wrong, my dear. I will reprimand the Magos personally, don't trouble yourself over it."
"My Lord, allow me," von Saeger interjected. "I've known Magos Sagnum since he came aboard, whatever caused, could have caused such an outburst-"
Quarren sighed, heavily. There was too much going on at once. "Just get to the bottom of it. But later," he spoke. "Right now, I- no, we need to discuss matters with the young Miss Will here. Preferably somewhere more comfortable and amenable to private discussions."
"Main conference chamber, my Lord?"
"Yes, that would be most appropriate." Quarren gestured towards the exit. "Care to join us, my Lady?"
Will nodded, smiling. "Yes, I would."
----==== ][ ====----
"I imagine that you might wish to seek rest and relaxation after such a battle," Quarren spoke as he led her through the corridors of the Legacy.
Behind them, the security detail followed, distancing themselves from the trio and allowing them a modicum of separation. With the potential unknowns and the dangers associated with such having passed, they were there mostly as a formality. Or at least, that's how Will viewed them. It's how she- how her crew would have treated unexpected guests.
"In due time, of course, but first I would prefer to have you properly debriefed. To be quite frank my Lady, a great many more people than myself are going to want a proper account of today's events, and the sooner I can draft one to paper and parchment, the better. With your help of course."
Will nodded. "Yes, my Lord Admiral." A pang of… something coursed briefly through her belly, small and relatively insignificant but painful all the same. She brought a hand to her stomach, massaging where she felt her storage chambers and supply lockers were. Come to think of it, she was starting to run dangerously low on supplies and fuel. She'd need to restock soon, to placate her Supply Faeries. They were getting disgruntled, but hadn't quite reached the point of mutiny. Not yet at least.
She sensed that her Admiral had seen her discomfort, but he said nothing. Perhaps he was unsure of how to broach the subject? She had wanted to ask to take on supplies when she had landed in the hangar, but… stuff had happened. As they walked she kept her gait calm and measured, pacing herself with her Admiral, all the more keenly aware of just how much taller she seemed to be compared to her Admiral. Compared to literally everyone else she'd so far encountered, it seemed.
Moments later they arrived at their destination, the main conference chambers of the Legacy. Striding forward the Lord Admiral pushed the large double doors open, each swinging silently inward. The chamber was vaulted, like so many of the Legacy's more luxurious compartments and quarters, and not entirely unlike the comparable chambers aboard herself. A series of high-backed chairs, not so much chairs as they were miniature thrones, ringed a truly massive wooden table. The table itself was roughly oval-shaped and hewn from some of the finest hardwoods the forests of Cadia undoubtedly had to offer, as were the richly wood-paneled walls of the chamber itself. Quarren took a seat at the end of the table, in a throne-chair substantially more opulent than the others while gesturing to those chairs closest to his. Initially hesitant, Will took a seat in the nearest to his left, as Admiral von Saeger sat opposite her and to his right.
The Lord Admiral leaned forward, tapping a single button on an inset panel in the table before him, the button glowing green as he did. He gave a moment for his fellows to settle into their seats, so to speak, before beginning. "So Will, I'll go ahead and allow you to start," he spoke. "Please, from the beginning."
"The beginning?" she questioned.
Quarren nodded and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "In your words."
The beginning. "Well, umm," Will began, "I was- my keel was laid down in the Ring of Iron, around Mars approximately 980 or so, M31. I was completed roughly eleven years later, just in time to join the Great Crusade with my Emperor."
"…What?" von Saeger deadpanned. "Great Crusade?"
Will shrank slightly into the plush throne. "Yes. I… remember it, almost like it was yesterday. It's… weird, you asked me for the beginning, and that is the beginning for me."
Quarren blinked. Slowly, carefully, as if to help him process what he was hearing. "Okay. Well, let's start with today, before we digress into something not quite as… directly relevant. Today, start from today."
Will curled up, and somehow sank more deeply into her chair. Somehow. Will knew that these chairs were quite, well, plush, but what she was experiencing didn't seem possible. "I… was dead today. And then I wasn't. My… my chronometer is a year out of date. It stopped the moment I… that I…" she trailed off. She felt tears welling up from the corners of her eyes.
"Dead?"
Her gaze wandered, away from the Lord Admiral, out into empty space. "He… He called me back. And I came back. And here I am."
Quarren was silent for a long and uncomfortable moment. "Alright then…" She was unsure if he believed her, or whether or not he thought she was crazy and was simply keeping silent on it. She didn't blame him either, if he thought such.
"Well, To give a more precise moment in time, let's start from the moment you appeared in the Cadia system," von Saeger interjected, breaking the silence. "From when you faced off against the Planet Killer."
Will nodded, continuing. "I was… alive again. In a way I had never thought possible. And then I was under attack. I responded in kind, and then I heard him. Taunting me."
"The Despoiler?"
"Yes, my Lord. Abaddon." She blinked, remembering. "I… I might have acted… unbecoming of one such as my class."
"Unbecoming, you say." Quarren thought back, just a scant few hours ago, to her banter broadcast for the whole system to hear. "Fair enough. You assaulted and then crashed into Abbadon's flagship, and we, well, lost contact."
"I fought him, on the Bridge of his own ship." Quarren's intake of air was audible. "Well, it wasn't much of a ship at that point." She let a little snark slip into her voice. "It had a lot of holes in it."
"Continue."
"Of course. We dueled, sword-to-sword. I won of course, easily overpowering and disarming him." Will left out the word 'literally' there, at the end. She wasn't sure how to exactly explain it in a way that sounded believable to her. "However, the Despoiler escaped, teleported away. Presumably to another ship in his fleet." She realized that her trophies were still sitting in her hangar bay, dumped unceremoniously on the deck and a ring of sentries posted around them. Watching, in case they sprouted legs or something. She wasn't sure why her security Faeries came to that reasoning, but who knew with them.
"So he still lives then. A shame."
"I am sorry, my Admiral."
"I asked you not to apologize Will," he stated calmly. "What you've done today is something I doubt anybody will be able to ever repay you for. Again, thank you."
She saw him smile at her, and that was all she needed for her to smile back. "No my Admiral, thank you."
"My Lady, you mentioned 'Him' a few moments ago, von Saeger spoke. "By 'Him,' you don't mean what I think you mean, do you?"
Will turned to the Vice Admiral across from her. "What do you think I meant?"
"The way you phrased it, sounds an awful lot like you... were speaking of our God Emperor."
Will nodded. "I am His will made manifest. It is by His will, His word, that I am here, alive once again to fight."
For a long, pregnant moment neither of the two men said anything. They looked to each other, and then back to Will. And then Lord Admiral Quarren exhaled, long and shakily.
"Huh. Well, I suppose that would explain some things," he spoke.
----==== ][ ====----
Author's note: If you think the Magos' freakout was bad, wait until you see the Inquisitor's.
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Part 6
Well, this took entirely too long...
----====][====----
"So the Emperor's Will then?" Admiral von Saeger spoke. "It explains today about as well as anything else would, I suppose."
"Indeed," the Lord Admiral added, before continuing. "In regards to your encounter with the Despoiler, I don't suppose you at least have physical proof of your battle with him, beyond your word?"
Will was silent for a moment, contemplating his words. "I have his sword and his gauntlet-thing," she blurted out. "B-but I have them under guard."
Both of the men were visibly surprised. Both blinked once. "On your person? Right now?"
"Umm, well, it's on the deck of my Hangar Bay, so… sort of inside me I suppose?" It felt awkward to say. She was still having trouble trying to figure out where the ship ended and the person began. And there was a lot of ship. Many, many millions of tons of it. It was something she was going to have to keep working on. "But…"
"But?"
"I also have a pict-recording of the battle."
The Lord Admiral was visibly surprised, leaning forward in his seat in interest. "Really?"
"Yes, my Lord Admiral. Although not me specifically. Well… err…" She was tripping over her words now. How utterly undignified. "One of my Boarding Party Fairies recorded the battle."
Another long silence. "Your Boarding... Party… what?"
"I-" Before Will had the chance to try and explain, she felt something trying to push itself out of the folds of her Admiral-issued waistcoat. She looked down, and briefly puzzled by the sight of a bulge trying to navigate its way out of her chest. Will deftly unbuttoned the coat's outer layer and the mystery creature was suddenly freed, and something small and red popped out of her coat and - almost instinctively - she caught it.
"Hey!" the tiny creature spoke, its voice tinged with an electronic buzz. Will recognized it instantly as one of her Techpriest Fairies, the tiny little lady briefly leaned down to dust herself off, before craning her head up to look at Will with her featureless oversized eyes. "Hey!" she spoke again, gesturing towards her with her staff before reaching into her robe with her free hand and pulling out a small object. Will recognized it as a data ark, one of many used by her crew and Techpriests for storing and transporting data, albeit comparatively just as tiny.
"You have a copy of the recording my Boarding Party Fairies made?" Will asked it.
"Hey!"
"Can we see it?" She gestured towards the others at the table.
"Hey!" The Fairy hopped out of her hand and began strolling towards the very center of the table, almost leisurely. As leisurely as a centimeters-tall Fairy could at least.
As she refastened her coat Will looked up, following her Fairy's overall direction and recognizing a circular glass disc for what was likely the lens of an impressive holo-projector inset into the table. "She can show us a video of the battle I fought with the Despoiler," Will looked over, speaking once more to Admiral Quarren with a small smile. "So it should erase any doubts that… umm, Admiral?"
Her Admiral's jaw hung open, eyes wide at the Fairy briskly pattering across the table. The Vice Admiral was no better, jaw just as low and his eyes bulging out as his head tracked her movement. Will perceived his hand twitching for the ornate laspistol at his side, ceremony and circumstance likely the only things keeping him in check. "Admiral?"
He looked away from the Fairy to Will.
Back to the Fairy on the table.
Back to Will.
"Wh- bwhaa." was all he somehow managed to choke out.
"She's one of my Fairies. They're, well... sort of my crew, I think," she tried to explain.
"Sort of," von Saeger deadpanned, breaking his laser-lock gaze of the Fairy to look at Will.
Will nodded. "I don't have any people inside of me, which seems a little odd thinking about it. The Fairies sort of, well, fill in for the roles my crew had before…" she trailed off. She still didn't want to think about that now. Fortunately, before she had the opportunity to dwell on history the Techpriest Fairy reached her destination. Standing before the comparatively massive holo-projector lens before her with the data ark in hand, the Fairy raised her cog staff and brought the head down onto the lens with a loudly-audible tap.
The projector abruptly sprang to life, a great wireframe grid of light filled the space above the table before resolving into the beginning of a pict-recording. Will saw herself, standing proud and radiant on the smouldering ruined Bridge of the Planet Killer, challenging The Despoiler to a duel to end all duels, cutlass drawn and aimed at the arch-Traitor before charging him. She - they - continued to watch the recording as she fought and dueled him, smack-talking him even, before laying him low. The recording continued, showing her brief conversation with The Despoiler before he finally winked out of existence and teleported away to safety. The last image before the recording ended was of Will, standing proud and triumphant before the image faded and the projector powered down.
It had felt a lot longer in person, Will realized. Her hand once more went to the nick on her neck, or at least where it used to be - it had already completely healed, courtesy of her Damage Control Fairies. She wondered if maybe he had been on one of the fleeing warships she had effortlessly destroyed as they retreated. Her ponderings were interrupted as she felt a tugging on her coat cuff - the Techpriest Fairy, squirming into the gap between her coat sleeve and skin and disappearing inside. Thanks little lady, she thought.
"Hey!" was the immediate response from somewhere inside of her, one of her many access airlocks.
"So, that was a… a thing that I just witnessed." Admiral Quarren seemed troubled. "I… I really am at a loss for words at all of this. It has been a tumultuous few days, and I think we should all retire for the evening. I also still need to figure out what to tell Segmentum Command." His hand massaged his temples, fingers of the other drumming on the table.
Von Saeger said nothing in reply, merely nodding at the Lord Admiral's words.
"I, I would be grateful my Admiral," Will spoke. "Umm, I… I also think I need a bath."
"Y- Yes, you've earned that, I imagine." he tapped the glowing button on the console before him and powered off the holo-projector, before tapping another to its left and summoning the Security entourage still stationed outside. They marched in, stopping at the far end of the table and the ranking officer among them crisply saluted the Lord Admiral. "Lieutenant, please have some of your men escort Miss Will here to the Legacy's Noble's Quarters." Turning back to Will he continued, "I will arrange for an officer to escort you to the Bridge tomorrow morning at nine-hundred sharp, so we may... further discuss what to do from here on out. You are dismissed."
Will nodded and rose from her seat at the conference table, before bowing deeply to Admiral Quarren. She then walked back out through the great double doors, several of the Security Personnel escorting her to their destination. The doors to the chamber closed behind her and she mused that The Lord Admiral and Vice Admiral likely still had things to discuss, probably about her.
No matter, she had a bath to look forward to.
----====][====----
Only after their security detail returned to their posts outside the conference chamber and had closed the double doors behind them did the Lord Admiral finally speak. "Vice Admiral, your thoughts?"
Von Saeger had grown uncharacteristically silent during their briefing with His Will. Normally, he was a fair bit… confrontational, willing to engage in a war of words or even a duel with those he saw as potential opponents or rivals at the drop of a hat. Much as his initial conduct with His Will- Will, had demonstrated. Admiral Quarren usually didn't mind, as a degree of aggression was necessary for a captain of a Battleship. And for the most part, von Saeger usually kept himself in check. But for much of the briefing, especially after the recording and the… the Fairy that showed them it? Silence.
The Legacy's Captain drew a long ragged breath before speaking, a hand massaging his temple. "Well Sir, I have begun to suspect that I have in fact died sometime in the last several hours," von Saeger began. "That the Despoiler killed us in battle, and everything I have witnessed in those past hours were merely hallucinations on my part in the last few seconds of brain activity, perhaps as my corpse tumbles through the void of space." A beat before he continued. "Earlier today, I listened to a woman vox-broadcast to the entire system a childish argument with one of the most terrifying Arch-Traitors in the galaxy. Later I saw his ship explode because of that woman personally boarding it and blowing it up, and then afterward she flew into my own ship's Hangar Bay without a voidsuit. I just watched a… a tiny person, climb out of her cleavage, and then walk across a table to show us a video of her fighting and defeating the Despoiler himself, before she hacked off his frakking arms and gave him a haircut. Oh, and she claims to be a long-destroyed warship - not merely impersonating it but the actual ship, as if that would somehow explain any of it."
Quarren sighed and nodded. "Yes. It's a lot to take in, I agree."
"So if it's anything to you Milord, I would like to return to my quarters, uncork the oldest bottle of amasec I can find and try and make sense of today, if you would be so inclined as to let me."
"I…" Quarren started, initially wanting to disagree with the man for… some reason. Before the gears all clicked and fully processed what he had said. "Yes, that is a very good idea. Very good indeed." The Lord Admiral stood abruptly and began walking around the conference table towards the double doors, and then everything began to spin and turn right side up and he was acutely aware of someone - von Saeger - suddenly hugging - no, grabbing and catching him-
"Admiral!" Quarren heard the man exclaim as he narrowly caught him mid-fall before he could faceplant the deck and helped him back onto his own feet. Already the ceaselessly analytical part of his brain was concluding what had happened; that he had collapsed from exhaustion after having been awake for nearly five days, far beyond even what the Circadian-bionic in his brain and adrenal-stimm shots from the ship's Chiurgeon would normally let him go. That he was even still conscious at all…
"I… we…" he stammered, "The both of us could use a stiff drink I think," Quarren managed to stammer. "And sleep. Plenty of sleep."
"Yes, Lord Admiral, we do." back on his feet and steady for the moment and von Saeger right at his side, Quarren continued onward towards the double doors, his personal quarters his intended destination. He still had a lot to do - compose a report for Segmentum Command, arrange for resupply and repair requests for what was left of his fleet, find the bottle of M40-vintage he once received from the Lord Castellan of Cadia himself as a gift. Most of it he could delegate to a degree. But for now…
For now, he desperately needed to lie down.
----====][====----
Will walked through the corridors of the Savon's Legacy, with some degree of trepidation.
It felt… wrong, being inside of a battleship to her. She herself was a proud battleship, yet she was somehow inside of yet another battleship. She could recognize the halls and corridors she strode through, that were mirrored to a degree within herself - they shared a similar design and architecture, with the arched ceiling and gothic lamp-sconces. Despite being an Apocalypse-class and the Legacy being a Retribution-class, the layouts in some places were all-but-identical, especially in parts of the superstructure. Ultimately she tried to get her mind off of the subject entirely - it was something else related to her trying to separate the ship from the girl.
The small group of Security Personnel had led her wordlessly from the Conference Chambers, presumably towards whatever were the "best quarters available." Not quite the Lord Admiral or First Officer then - those quarters took up the entirety of the deck above them, if her own deck plan was anything to go by. So the previous quarters of one of the more junior officers then? No, 'Noble's Quarters' sounded more like her own former guest quarters, which also should have been on this deck.
No more ship-girl thinking. Bath first. Of course, she'd shaken the majority of the soot that had initially clung to her out of her hair and off of her outfit even before she even set foot aboard the Legacy, but a little tiny bit of it still coated her hull, flecks of it here and there. She could feel it seeping into the crooks and crevices along her hull, between her grand spires and her gun wells, making her feel just a tiny bit grimy.
Which, as she thought about it more and more, was strange - she hadn't needed a bath before now, in her long, long and storied career as an Imperial Battleship-of-the-Line. And that was even counting all the horrors that usually splattered themselves all over her Gellar Fields while she flew through the Warp-
Oh Emperor… she shook her head, banishing the thoughts of nightmarish entities from her mind. She really needed that bath now.
And on cue, the men leading her along stopped, having arrived at a pair of great double doors not unlike those of the Conference Chamber. "Your quarters, milady," the ranking officer-in-charge turned and spoke to her, as one of his fellows swung the doors outward. His speech was quite formal, in contrast to his combat fatigues and webbing and the meltagun in his hands. "My men shall post guard in the vestibule as per instructions from the Lord Admiral. Also, I will go ahead and send word to the ship's stewards that there is a guest assigned. If you need any refreshments, please let them know."
Will nodded and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Sergeant, umm…"
"Cantrell," The formerly nameless Sergeant spoke.
"Right. Thank you, Sergeant Cantrell. And if I need anything, I will inform you."
"Of course Milady," the Sergeant replied.
"It's His Will," Will smiled. "Or just Will, informally."
"Oh. Of course, Miss Will. Good night then."
Will continued onward through the next set of doors, closing them behind her and leaving the Sergeant to converse with his team. While it wasn't quite what one of her many previous Admirals would have considered 'palatial,' it was still fairly close. "Noble's Quarters indeed," Will spoke to nobody in particular. There was a main central room, containing an impressive set of extremely comfortable looking furniture surrounding a large coffee table. She could get lost in those seat cushions… She noted a smaller version of the holo-projector in the center of the table and a small control panel for operating it. Beyond and opposite the double doors on the other side of the room was what appeared to be a well-appointed office or study of some sort, judging by the large hardwood desk. To her left was a well-furnished dining room, no doubt for private dinners or ceremonies with a kitchen just beyond it. And to her right…
Were the bedchambers, and a luxurious and opulent bathroom beyond that. Will was in motion, her long legs already carrying her towards it. As she walked through the bedchambers and into the bath she began to disrobe, quickly stripping out of her uniform and undergarments and kicking off her boots, letting her skin feel the cool air on it for the first time in, well, ever.
There was not only a fully-enclosed shower with a toilet inside of it, but a bathtub so large it was practically a small swimming pool - something that Will would more than benefit from, what with standing head and shoulders over everyone else she had so far met. She only briefly puzzled over how to operate the large and ornate faucets - a Fairy on her Bridge calmly pointed out which one was for hot and cold water - and in no time at all the bathtub was filled with the former.
And in no time at all, she was shuddering in pleasure as the water washed over her skin, lapping at her hull like a sailing ship of ancient times. She found herself floating on the surface, much to her surprise - she would have expected herself to have sunk like the metaphorical plasteel rock she was. The heat from the water soaked into her skin, permeating through her corridors and passages much to her relief. She never knew something could feel this… incredible.
That was, until she was reminded by the same Fairy on her Bridge that she was forgetting the soap.
The soap! Will righted herself and half walked, half swam over to the faucets and towards what looked like a dispenser of some sort situated above them. Several fragrances were displayed, ranging from floral to the masculine. So many choices, she thought, before deciding to throw caution to the wind by pressing all of the buttons. Immediately several kinds of different soap began to dispense into the steaming water, the liquid transfusing into it before transforming into towering pillar of suds that spread out, quickly blanketing the steaming water.
They were like… clouds. Fluffy clouds of cleanliness. Or like navigating a field of asteroids, or a cluster of shipwrecked husks of a once-armada that she had personally destroyed. And no one else is here with me. Will all but squeed in delight, charging the pillars with a shout of glee and throwing herself bodily into the water with a great belly flop, the sprays of mist launched upward reaching the ceiling above.
When the stewardess that Sergeant Cantrell called upon finally arrived, twenty minutes after Will had entered her quarters, she was still playing gleefully in the soapy water.
----====][====----
Well, that's a wrap for now. Until next time.
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Omake: Weird as Frak, Part 2
~Celeste~
Vampire Catgirl Extraordinaire
- Pronouns
- She/They
New chapter? New omake!
Only when the mysterious woman left, jumping unassisted into the warp through another portal, did Pesc'an have time to reflect.
That presence… had felt familiar. Beneath the blinding aura of the emperor's protection was something else. Less powerful, perhaps, but no less important. A… harmony, a unity of purpose. A long lived foundation guiding parts into a greater whole…
His eyes widened in sudden realization. Of course it was familiar. While the mental shapes and hues of that feeling were a complete unknown to him, its structure wasn't. he had felt something similar before, many times in fact - Just not from a single person. Sometimes it was muted, like whenever a wraithship joined his fleet, other times it was clear as day, like when he was home and could feel the Infinity Circuits of his Craftworld.
The old eldar empire had gone through a period of decadence longer than the history of most civilizations, and so had its language, which meant that Pesc'an could spell out exactly what he thought about the situation, even if it caused his crew to physically recoil from him.
It didn't really make him feel better though.
"Chart a course for the nearest Webway portal," he ordered after a long suffering sigh, "we shall return to An-Iolsus posthaste. The Mon-Keigh emperor has read our book."
Because, really, I can't be the only one who has read the lore on eldar wraithships, ghostships and infinity circuits - to say nothing of Ynnead, and thought it sounded like the unnecessarily grimdark, 40k version of Kanmusu (Inb4 Craftworld kanmusu Ynnead).
Vad Pesc'an, veteran captain of the eldar light cruiser Eventide was well known in the An-Iolsus fleet for his tactical skill and cool under fire. He walked the Path of the Seer, after all, and he put his abilities to good use.
That's why, when he suddenly jumped out of his seat, ordering to stop and brace for impact, his crew obeyed without question.
In a just a few moments, the nimble vessel drifted to a halt in the void of space. Two seconds later, a warp portal opened just a few miles in front of the ship.
The crew soundlessly and efficiently assumed battle stations as Pesc'an took stock of the situation.
The use of warp meant no Necrons, and the portal wasn't too large, which meant he could safely rule out battleships or space hulks. That left cruisers and frigates, which he could deal with. After all, whatever his Aurora class light cruiser couldn't outgun, it could certainly outrun, and he had plans for dealing with everything from ork Roks to chaos raiders…
What he most decidedly didn't have plans for was a human woman rocketing out of the portal, tumbling around in space and stopping right in front of his ship.
For a single, awkward moment, nobody so much as blinked. Then the woman appeared to clear her throat, and the communication console signaled an incoming transmission.
That seemed to snap the cruiser's crew out of their trance, and they quickly leapt to action, pouring over sensors and weapon system – trying to make sense of the situation.
Pesc'an, for his part, simply gazed at the... being in front of him, now near enough he could see her waving her arms and moving her lips, as if speaking in the soundless void.
It looked human, certainly, with hair of bronze and what looked like the uniform and trappings of an imperial naval uniform, but even the most dim-witted ork knew that unaugmented, unarmored humans didn't just waltz through space carrying what looked like several tons of metal rigging with them. Then, obviously, there was the creature's warp presence – massive enough to be felt even by the less psionically gifted and carrying the unmistakable mark of the human emperor, but with a strangely familiar undertone he couldn't quite decypher.
One of the emperor's empowered emissaries, then, even if that didn't explain his feeling of deja-vu, nor why, according to the sensor crew, she had the energy signature of a cruiser.
Still, he couldn't stall forever. After a quick use of his Sight to check the immediate future, the eldar captain let the transmission through with the flick of a mental switch.
<<-ear me? I know you can use our radio, you pointy eared->>
"We can, in fact, hear you, Mon-Keigh," Pesc'an stopped her mid-sentence.
<<Took you long enough. I see eldar are as rude as always.>>
His eyes narrowed. "I could say likewise, but I have no memory of you."
<<Ha!>> the captain could feel smugness positively radiating from the woman, <<I see even warlocks can be surprised,>> she fell silent for a moment, and by now she had drifted so close to his ship that the captain could see the thoughtful expression on her face through his main viewscreen. <<I am Imperious,>> she said finally, <<and I seek the location of the 34th Gothic Reserve Fleet>> the woman added with a grimace, as if loathe to admit her ignorance, <<I know you keep track of it.>>
"Our name does not concern you, Mon-Keigh, and you give us no reason to help you," he replied curtly.
<<I see...>> Imperious trailed off with a frown, and for a moment Pesc'an hoped she could be fooled into divulging critical information.
Then she smiled, and brought her hands to what looked like gun holsters at her hips. Her energy readings spiked, the familiar feeling intensified, and his senses screamed danger.
<<Hey, hey, I got it!>> she exclaimed, voice sounding all too cheerful, <<how does 'not getting blasted into the next Segmentum' sound?>>
His crew looked at each other, then at him, first with disbelief, then with growing unease. A lone woman going against a ship was preposterous, and it would be terribly easy to call her bluff… and yet, should he do so, his Sight showed nothing but pain and regret.
If she was really as powerful as a cruiser… at point blank range and without the benefit of holofields…
He looked back at the eldar under his command. Was he willing to risk their lives for information, which, by definition, the Imperium already had?
There really was no choice at all.
That's why, when he suddenly jumped out of his seat, ordering to stop and brace for impact, his crew obeyed without question.
In a just a few moments, the nimble vessel drifted to a halt in the void of space. Two seconds later, a warp portal opened just a few miles in front of the ship.
The crew soundlessly and efficiently assumed battle stations as Pesc'an took stock of the situation.
The use of warp meant no Necrons, and the portal wasn't too large, which meant he could safely rule out battleships or space hulks. That left cruisers and frigates, which he could deal with. After all, whatever his Aurora class light cruiser couldn't outgun, it could certainly outrun, and he had plans for dealing with everything from ork Roks to chaos raiders…
What he most decidedly didn't have plans for was a human woman rocketing out of the portal, tumbling around in space and stopping right in front of his ship.
For a single, awkward moment, nobody so much as blinked. Then the woman appeared to clear her throat, and the communication console signaled an incoming transmission.
That seemed to snap the cruiser's crew out of their trance, and they quickly leapt to action, pouring over sensors and weapon system – trying to make sense of the situation.
Pesc'an, for his part, simply gazed at the... being in front of him, now near enough he could see her waving her arms and moving her lips, as if speaking in the soundless void.
It looked human, certainly, with hair of bronze and what looked like the uniform and trappings of an imperial naval uniform, but even the most dim-witted ork knew that unaugmented, unarmored humans didn't just waltz through space carrying what looked like several tons of metal rigging with them. Then, obviously, there was the creature's warp presence – massive enough to be felt even by the less psionically gifted and carrying the unmistakable mark of the human emperor, but with a strangely familiar undertone he couldn't quite decypher.
One of the emperor's empowered emissaries, then, even if that didn't explain his feeling of deja-vu, nor why, according to the sensor crew, she had the energy signature of a cruiser.
Still, he couldn't stall forever. After a quick use of his Sight to check the immediate future, the eldar captain let the transmission through with the flick of a mental switch.
<<-ear me? I know you can use our radio, you pointy eared->>
"We can, in fact, hear you, Mon-Keigh," Pesc'an stopped her mid-sentence.
<<Took you long enough. I see eldar are as rude as always.>>
His eyes narrowed. "I could say likewise, but I have no memory of you."
<<Ha!>> the captain could feel smugness positively radiating from the woman, <<I see even warlocks can be surprised,>> she fell silent for a moment, and by now she had drifted so close to his ship that the captain could see the thoughtful expression on her face through his main viewscreen. <<I am Imperious,>> she said finally, <<and I seek the location of the 34th Gothic Reserve Fleet>> the woman added with a grimace, as if loathe to admit her ignorance, <<I know you keep track of it.>>
"Our name does not concern you, Mon-Keigh, and you give us no reason to help you," he replied curtly.
<<I see...>> Imperious trailed off with a frown, and for a moment Pesc'an hoped she could be fooled into divulging critical information.
Then she smiled, and brought her hands to what looked like gun holsters at her hips. Her energy readings spiked, the familiar feeling intensified, and his senses screamed danger.
<<Hey, hey, I got it!>> she exclaimed, voice sounding all too cheerful, <<how does 'not getting blasted into the next Segmentum' sound?>>
His crew looked at each other, then at him, first with disbelief, then with growing unease. A lone woman going against a ship was preposterous, and it would be terribly easy to call her bluff… and yet, should he do so, his Sight showed nothing but pain and regret.
If she was really as powerful as a cruiser… at point blank range and without the benefit of holofields…
He looked back at the eldar under his command. Was he willing to risk their lives for information, which, by definition, the Imperium already had?
There really was no choice at all.
Only when the mysterious woman left, jumping unassisted into the warp through another portal, did Pesc'an have time to reflect.
That presence… had felt familiar. Beneath the blinding aura of the emperor's protection was something else. Less powerful, perhaps, but no less important. A… harmony, a unity of purpose. A long lived foundation guiding parts into a greater whole…
His eyes widened in sudden realization. Of course it was familiar. While the mental shapes and hues of that feeling were a complete unknown to him, its structure wasn't. he had felt something similar before, many times in fact - Just not from a single person. Sometimes it was muted, like whenever a wraithship joined his fleet, other times it was clear as day, like when he was home and could feel the Infinity Circuits of his Craftworld.
The old eldar empire had gone through a period of decadence longer than the history of most civilizations, and so had its language, which meant that Pesc'an could spell out exactly what he thought about the situation, even if it caused his crew to physically recoil from him.
It didn't really make him feel better though.
"Chart a course for the nearest Webway portal," he ordered after a long suffering sigh, "we shall return to An-Iolsus posthaste. The Mon-Keigh emperor has read our book."
Because, really, I can't be the only one who has read the lore on eldar wraithships, ghostships and infinity circuits - to say nothing of Ynnead, and thought it sounded like the unnecessarily grimdark, 40k version of Kanmusu (Inb4 Craftworld kanmusu Ynnead).
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Part 7
Well, time for another heady dose of HERESY!, Courtesy of Yours Truly. Load a cyanide bolt into your mags as a safety precaution, in case things get too heady and heavy.
"Unbecoming, so unbecoming," Will muttered as the Stewardess gently brushed her hair. It had been embarrassing, realizing she had had a… a spectator for a few moments back there. One moment she had been commanding an imaginary fleet, sending them to battle an equally imaginary fleet of heretics or maybe xenos amongst the sud drifts of the bath, before suddenly realizing that there was somebody watching her. It wouldn't have been too bad getting caught unawares acting as a child would. But she had been naked, her only coverings having been clusters of suds adhered to her hull- her skin, thankfully in strategic places. For now she was clothed in an elegant nightgown, somehow miraculously long enough to comfortably fit her.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Will," the Stewardess gently replied. "Everyone deserves a little stress relief from time to time." Will was kneeling on the bed, facing away as the stewardess tended to her hair from a seat pulled up to the bed.
"I… I got caught up in the moment is all," she blushed. Which was true, being it was her first bath in, well, ever. "It won't happen again."
"Well even if it does I won't say anything," the Stewardess smiled. She continued to brush Will's hair, the sensation sending tingles up and down Will's spine. "Miss Will, may I ask you something?"
"Sure, I suppose."
"May I ask how you treat your hair so well?"
Will blinked. "My… hair?"
"Yes." The brush continued to flow through her hair, the countless bristles parting the strands, like numerous boats sailing upon a golden sea. "I… have never seen nor felt such illustrious hair before. You've taken incredible care of it. May I… may I know what shampoos and conditioners you use?"
"I…" Will trailed off. She didn't have an answer to it. Once a century she had been dry docked, her countless systems tweaked and adjusted as needed by a legion of Enginseers and Techpriests. Her hull gone over with a fine-toothed comb, any cracks or unexpected damages quickly repaired, and past repairs reviewed in depth by cogitator and Magos alike, keen eyes looking for potential errors and shortcomings in past maintenance. Weapons and auguries were reconfigured as needed, her core cogiators purged of any corrupting code and placated with prayers and incense. A whole storage compartment within her had been given over and dedicated solely to her Rites and Records of Maintenance - an ever-increasing volume of parchment listing her ongoing state of well-being. But her hair?
She thought back earlier, to the numerous options to choose from in the bath. Soaps and shampoos and conditioners with archaic High Gothic names. Further still to distant impersonal memories, embarrassing memories of her few female officers bathing. Further still to her Admiral bathing and causing her to blush even more. "Well, I, umm... I use a bit of everything, and a bit more than I probably should," she stammered. "I'm also careful not to let it get damaged." Which was truthful to a degree - Neither Mr. Armless nor his garbage scow could do more than even scratch her, and the bath had cleaned her hair of the soot from said scow's fiery destruction to her satisfaction.
"A bit of everything? Interesting," she softly chuckled. "I'll admit I never thought to mix and match, so to speak." Apparently satisfied with detangling her golden strands, the Stewardess began to deftly and carefully re-braid her hair, hands well-practiced to the point where simple braiding was an art form. Will relished the feeling of her hands in her hair, of being cared for. Memories of being tended to by scores of men and Techpriests, fixing damage after fierce battles against heretics and xenos. The Stewardess was through all too quickly, carefully applying a single golden silk cuff to keep her hair in place. "I think I might try using several shampoos at once. Thank you, for the advice."
She rose from where she sat behind Will, and Will herself stood as well. She was keenly aware of how tall she was, standing next to the much shorter woman. She was about six feet, but next to Will who still managed to stand head and shoulders over her…
"Thank you," Will spoke after breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Umm, about my clothes…"
"Oh, your uniform?" The Stewardess spoke. "They are being laundered and cared for. Your weapons I believe are in the care of the honor guard in the foyer. The Sergeant stated he would guard them with his life."
Sergeant Cantrell. Right. "Oh, well that's good then. Thank you."
"It is my pleasure to serve, my Lady," she replied. "If you need anything, myself or one of the other stewardesses are just a call away."
"I… I will. Thank you, Miss…?"
"Alys," the Stewardess replied with a bow. "Good night, Miss Will."
"Good night," she spoke and with that Alys departed, leaving Will alone. Her chronometer had been updated in the interim at some point, matched with that of the Legacy. Which meant that she had about… eight hours or so, before she had to meet Admiral Quarrel once more. Which meant that she would likely need to be early, very early, and would need enough time to prepare herself in the morning…
She shrugged, and a Fairy on her Bridge helpfully set an alarm to sound a full hour and a half prior. Good enough, Will decided, and pulled away to covers of the massive bed before sinking into it, and she all but immediately passed out.
Meanwhile, within the halls and corridors of His Will…
The Captain Fairy blinked. It looked at the numerous officers standing around the Bridge. Its head pivoted, large empty eyes taking in the scene. It stood on the command podium, the large holo-projector behind it currently devoid of any useful information. Below the Captain, the various officers and crew stood by their posts, motionless and ready to accept their orders.
"Hey!" The Captain commanded after a moment's consideration, and the assembled crew sprang to action, taking their posts and seats, a quiet cacophony of 'Hey' filling the previously silent chamber with low-level noise.
"Hey." A voice spoke to the Captain's right. It turned, taking in the face of the newcomer. It wore the attire of a Commissar, one assigned to the ranks of the Navy. A peaked cap crowned its oversized head, and one of its hands rested on the bolt pistol on its hip. "Hey," The Commissar Fairy repeated.
"Hey," The Captain agreed. Touring the Ship and taking into account the state of the Ship's affairs would be a good idea. Leaving an Acting Captain in charge would be prudent, however. But the First Officer Fairy - normally the recipient of such a task - was nowhere to be found. Presumably it would turn up eventually. But in the meantime…
...There needed to be an Acting Captain. The Captain's empty eyes panned across the crew on the Bridge. They fell upon the perfect candidate, an Ensign Fairy of little to no notability. "Hey!"
The Ensign popped out of its seat, turning and saluting the Captain. "Hey."
"Hey!" the Captain gestured to the empty deck before it.
The Ensign sprang to action, quickly running up to the Captain and standing at attention before its superior. The Captain then reached up to its own head, lifting the ornate bicorne from its perch before placing it upon the Ensign's own head. "Hey," The Captain spoke.
The Acting Captain Fairy blinked, before curtly nodding. "Hey!" it then saluted, acknowledging its temporary assignment.
"Hey." Satisfied the Captain turned, walking to the nearest exit and towards the nearest Lift. The Commissar eyed the Acting Captain warily before following. "Hey?" it enquired.
"Hey," the Captain said. It was confident the hapless Ensign could step up to the task. Any Bridge Officer should be ready to do so if the need arose.
Standing before the nearest lift, waiting for the arcane device to arrive and then deliver it to its first destination, the Captain carefully considered where to go first. After a brief moment of deliberation, it decided on visiting the Enginarium. The lift arrived, and the gilded doors slid open, its new occupants stepping inside before being whisked away into the depths of the Ship.
A few minutes and a few winding corridors later the Captain and Commissar arrived, the former swinging open the great copper doors of the chamber. Above and before the Captain was merely one part of the Ship's vast primary plasma reactor. The meters-thick casing formed the entirety of one great wall of the chamber, the reactor far too large to be contained to a single compartment. It was the beating heart of the Ship, the burning star upon which all of the Ship's systems drew power.
The Magos Fairy was there, the one in charge of all of the maintenance for the Ship. It, as well as a number of other Techpriest Fairies stood around and gazed upon a central dais, upon which a truly massive book rested. It turned to face the Captain, eyes warily considering the interloper upon the sacred deck of the Omnissiah. "Hey," it eventually spoke, offering a raspy electronic greeting to its technical superior.
"Hey," the Captain replied. Its own eyes panned across the chamber, taking in all there was to see. "Hey?"
"Hey." The Magos gestured to the dais. "Hey."
"Hey," the Captain agreed. It strode over to the dais, to take a look at the massive tome. The book looked old, eons old, yet showed few if any signs of wear - no creases along its spine, nor fraying of its thick cover. "Hey?"
"Hey." The Magos pointed to the title.
The tome's title was a long one, several lines of High Gothic golden text embossed onto the thick leather hardcover, above the sacred symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus. 'The Assembled Engineering Manuals and Technical Schematics for Operation and Maintenance of Apocalypse-class Battleship, M30 Edition,' was what the title stated. Gently, the Captain took hold of the cover and opened the giant book much to the alarm of the Magos Fairy and other Techpriests, before turning to a random page near the front. It landed on a two-page spread of some sort of arcane device - an air-scrubbing machine, according to the title at the top of the page. It observed the pages, their crispness and lack of wear, all the while ignoring the Magos' protests before closing the book.
"Hey!" the Captain spoke after a long moment, turning to the Magos. "Hey!"
"Hey!" The Magos shouted in its defense.
"Hey?" the Captain spoke, and the room grew deathly silent. Even the beating reactor seemed to quiet, if only briefly. "Hey." the Captain then grabbed hold of the massive book, raising it above its hatless head before bringing the colossal tome down upon the Magos' augmented and hooded skull, sending it to the deck with a heavy thud.
*wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey."
The Magos lay face-down and twitching on the deck, its mostly-cybernetic face now molded to the deck of the Enginarium. The Techpriest huddled behind nearby maintenance consoles, now rightly terrified of the Captain. Even the Commissar was impressed. It had been trained to use its bolt pistol mainly to ensure both discipline and common sense - while messier, it nevertheless took less effort to make a point or statement.
And what a statement it was. A… cathartic statement, at that. The Captain placed the ancient tome back upon the sacred dais, the volume seemingly no worse for wear after its impromptu usage as a bludgeon. "Hey," it spoke to the now mollified Magos, still twitching on the deck.
"Heeey…" the Magos somehow managed, its voice processor crackling excessively.
"Hey." The Captain turned, briskly walking out of the Enginarium and the Commissar followed, apparently satisfied that discipline had been metered out, even if it wasn't by its own hand.
"Hey?" The Commissar asked, inquiring about where the Captain would like to go next. "Hey?" It offered, suggesting any of the Ship's many cafeterias. Power was important to the Ship, but so was food and water to the Ship's crew. It could also use a snack, but it didn't voice that particular to the Captain.
The Captain briefly considered. "Hey?"
The Commissar nodded as they walked. "Hey," it gestured in a direction, towards one of the Ship's hangar bays. Specifically where… those things were being held.
The Captain nodded. "Hey," it decided.
The Commissar led the way. It's snack would have to wait.
The ancient daemon did not know how much time had passed since the Despoiler had fallen in battle. Since it had been… had been taken, captured, held as a… as a trophy.
Perhaps not quite the last one. It… this place… was no trophy room. Which somehow made it worse. Had it been a trophy room, the Daemonsword would have been fine with that. It could have been, could have become an object of contention, could have waited for another worthy enough to wield it to come along, to gaze upon its form, for their soul to fill with desire. Perhaps steal it, spirit it away to someone else, either as a trophy or weapon. That way, it could have found a new wielder, one worthy enough to carry it.
But this? An insult upon insults. It was not a trophy here, merely junk left upon a floor. Because 'here' was the deck of a hangar bay, inside of one of the warships of the Anathema.
And Drach'nyen, The Echo of the First Murder, had been unceremoniously dumped upon the ferrocrete deck like… like… a piece of refuse. Discarded and forgotten, along with the idiot minor Daemon inside of that Fool's Talon, still attached to part of said Fool's arm.. And yes, Abaddon's other arm was still gripping its hilt and oozing blackish blood all over it. And the Daemonsword noted that yet another part of that... failure of a Warmaster was also there, dumped just as unceremoniously and just as forgotten.
Well, not quite forgotten. There was a loose cordon of… things, a circle of vaguely humanoid not-humans standing around the daemon weapons, numbering about two dozen at the most. They wore the uniforms of the Anathema's Navy and carried the appropriate weapons. But…
But they were not humans. Or Daemons, or any other race it knew of. Anything the ancient daemon knew of. There were no souls there, not any that it could perceive with its warp senses. Nothing to corrupt. Instead of pinpoints of warp presences here, there was only this strange dilute haze - as if a single great soul was spread out in an impossible manner. They were something new, with their comically oversized heads and blank expressionless faces. And they had ceaselessly watched both Drach'nyen and the Talon, for what knew how long.
At first he had tried to speak to them, offering promises of power and strength. Of vengeance against their enemies. Surprisingly they had completely ignored the Daemonsword, in truth only responding not to Drach'nyen but to the Talon when it twitched, or when the bolters clicked, trying to fire corrupted shells long since spent. Drach'nyen could still hear the madly-gibbering Daemon housed within it, uttering incomprehensible garbage and no doubt equally upset about its predicament.
Eventually however, one of them that looked to be in charge of the rabble had gestured to another, saying something utterly alien to Drach'nyen before the latter darted away through a hatch, only to return moments later with a box clutched in its arms. A box that Drach'nyen realized with horror was full of earmuffs, as the thing began to walk around the circle and handed them out to every one of the things present.
That had been what might have been hours or could have been years ago. So now it might as well have been muted, for all the good it would do. It doubted its current situation could get any worse.
And then two more of them entered the bay.
----====][====----
The Captain strode onto the Hangar Deck and swiftly approached the cordon of security personnel at the center. Most of the minor spacecraft had been cleared away, taken either to the deck on the opposite side of the Ship or stowed out of the way inside the adjacent maintenance hall, as had the Rating and Engineer Fairies that would have normally tended to them. Only a dromon remained, the passenger shuttle much too large to fit through the cross-access to the port hangar. It had seemed an odd choice, to deposit the unholy relics on the hangar bay floor. The Captain would have preferred them locked inside of a storage locker in a distant corner of the Ship and under heavy guard, or just launched into space where the Ship's point defense weapons could have made short work of them. But orders were orders. Especially Her orders.
Meanwhile, the assigned personnel that had been ordered to watch them had reported that one of them had tried to somehow speak to those present. The Sergeant Fairy had requested hearing protection from the Quartermaster Fairy in the form of heavy-duty earmuffs. The Captain was mildly impressed at the Sergeant's initiative, and felt it warranted a commendation.
Speaking of which, said Sergeant turned to face its superior as it approached. "Hey," it saluted.
"Hey," the Captain replied. "Hey?"
"Hey," the Sergeant gestured to the daemonsword at the center of the cordon. "Hey."
"Hey." The Captain began to walk towards the center and the Chaotic weapons, then past the cordon.
"Hey?" The Commissar at its side asked, alarmed. "Hey!" it insisted.
"Hey," The Captain reassured his companion as they reached the center. Before them lay the three relics recovered. The cursed Daemonsword and the weird Talon-Bolter hybrid thing. And the third relic, which the Captain thought was oddly out of place next to the others.
The Daemonsword was hideous, up close. Ugly and malformed, a true product of the Warp. An arm, clad in a garishly decorated power armor bracer still clutched the weapon's handle. And much to the Captain's surprise the face on the Daemonsword's warped crossguard began to actually speak.
"You," it hissed. "You are not like the others here. Free me, take me into battle, and you shall be granted power beyond your wildest imagination!"
The Captain regarded the speaking sword, noting the hint of desperation in its voice before turning to the Commissar. "Hey?"
"Hey," the Commissar replied.
The Captain turned back to the sword. And grinned wickedly, enough to make even the daemonsword pause mid-lie. "Hey."
The Hangar Bay was quiet already, with the absence of bustling personnel and work and the silent security team. But it somehow got even quieter.
"Wh- what are you about to do!?" It asked, suddenly frightened.
"Hey." And then the Captain reached down the front of its pants before pulling, a great tearing sound echoed through the hangar as a pair of Munitorum-issue underwear were freed from the Captain's pants.
"What are you going to do with that- YOU WILL NOT PUT THAT ACCURSED THING IN MY MOUghrargharb-" The Daemonsword was unceremoniously silenced as the Captain leaned forward and shoved the unholy wad of fabric into the open mouth of the hideous face, and enforcing silence upon the Hangar Bay once more. Satisfied with its work, the Captain stood up and turned back the way it came, and the Commissar followed, once more thoroughly impressed by the Captain's… cavalier way of enforcing authority on the Ship.
"Hey?" the Captain asked.
"Hey," The Commissar firmly replied in agreement. The Officers' Mess sounded like a great idea - they could use a snack. And it would be a fine opportunity to take stock of the Ship's current stores of supplies - water, victuals, other consumables. And snacks, especially snacks.
But their trek back to the lift and the upper levels of the Ship was quickly cut short, by the First Officer no less. "Hey!" it breathlessly exclaimed.
The Captain and Commissar both halted. "Hey!?" the former asked in surprise.
"Hey," The First Officer confirmed, its arm gesturing wildly above them. "Hey!"
The Captain was moving at once, its long strides making its subordinates all but jog to keep up and quickly taking it towards their newfound destination: The Ship's primary Chapel, nestled above them in the superstructure of the Ship.
Time was of the essence. She was here.
Will had passed out pretty much the moment her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion of the day's events having finally caught up to her new human form. She had expected or at least desired pleasant dreams of the Emperor, of waging glorious battle against his enemies and winning, by carrying out His divine will amongst the stars. Or at least of lovely stewardesses, brushing her hair.
What she ended up getting was… this.
She stood before the great golden entrance of her own Chapel, the golden aquila of the Imperium emblazoned across the double doors. She… wasn't sure how to react to it. She looked down, realizing that she was barefoot and still wearing her nightgown, the metal deck apparent beneath her feet. It was… warm for some reason, when she somehow expected it to be cold.
She walked forward, placing her hands against the doors and pushed, and much to her surprise the colossal doors easily swung inward, floating silently on their hinges. The Chapel was vast, empty, countless rows of pews to her left and right, awaiting loyal servants of the Emperor that would likely never fill the seats again. The sides were dominated by titanic stained glass windows, featuring scenes of her past Captains and crew at war. The ceiling above her was covered in murals, depicting past battles she had fought in the Emperor's name. Directly before her at the far end of the empty aisle was the large golden podium upon which her ship-board Ministorum Priest would have given his sermons, now vacant. And behind that still…
Was Him. Or rather a massive golden statue of Him. Her God Emperor in resplendent blinding gold, gauntleted hands resting upon the pommel of a massive sword, looking down at his flock.
At her.
She walked forward towards his statue, past endless rows of pews, her feet taking her to the steps up to the podium before she began to climb. In moments she was standing before Him, His Majesty clad in his great golden armour and her in her bedclothes.
"I…" she stammered, unsure of what to even say. The syllable echoed through the empty chamber. "I don't know how to be human," she eventually managed to say. "I… I'm supposed to be a warship. I'm not even supposed to be alive. I don't know why you made me a girl. A… human being." Will sank to her knees, hoping for a response.
The statue said nothing.
"I was asked something about myself. About my hair." a hand went to the long golden braid, lovingly woven by Alys. "I don't- I didn't know what to say, because I shouldn't be human." She sank to her knees. "I… I wish you could tell me."
The statue said nothing.
Will didn't expect it to either - somehow she knew it wouldn't even though this was probably a dream and anything was possible in those. She knelt there in silence for a spell, her breathing the only sound that punctuated it. Breathing, she thought. Something that people do. That I do now. She brought her hands to her chest, squished them against her breasts, felt her heart beating in her chest. It beat in tune with the distant hum that coursed through her hull, that barely-audible tone that was composed of all the vibrations of all the working systems aboard herself, a sound one could never really escape when aboard her. In all likelihood she would be the only one to ever hear her heartbeat ever again. She… felt sad about that. As if she had lost something important to her.
Her Admiral. Parol. Her crew...
But had she gained anything? This… comprehension? Of Mortality?
Of being human?
She knelt there, pondering, until a hand came to rest upon her head and began to gently scratch it.
She was shaken from her thoughts, and looked up into the face of none other than her Captain Fairy, albeit devoid of his hat. Her First Officer and Commissar Fairies were there too, just off to the side. "Hey," it asked, concerned.
"I… I'll be fine, I think," she reassured him. Or maybe her. They all looked… androgynous at first glance. She felt at least that her Captain Fairy was male, same as she had felt that the little Techpriest Fairy from earlier had been female underneath the robes and mechadendrites. "I just sort of, well, wandered in here somehow."
"Hey," he nodded reassuringly. "Hey."
"Yeah." Her hands went to the braid. "The stewardess, Alys. She did a good job with it."
"Hey."
Will nodded. "I'll pass along the compliment." Will paused before continuing. "Umm, Captain?"
"Hey?"
"Can you… can you keep doing that? It feels nice."
"Hey," her Captain Fairy replied, and continued to stroke her hair in earnest, much to her pleasure.
She stayed like that, for a while.
I tried capturing the overall attitude and appearance of the Fairies as well as I could. I decided to portray them from their point of view that way for a reason: That reason being that they are all ultimately a small part of the greater whole that is Will, and they're trying to figure out how to work. I was also half-asleep as I was writing the dialogue for the main Fairy part, and I literally have no idea what most of what is being said. Seriously, I haven't slept for 2+ days due to insomnia, but I seem to write the nuttiest when I'm in this state for better or worse. You decide.
Also, I couldn't resist appearing Drach'nyen here - I deliberated on it for all of one minute before I said "Fuck It" and wrote the bugger in.
Also, hopefully you didn't need the cyanide bolts. Personally, I need a shot of vodka, equal parts cheap and strong preferably.
----====][====----
"Unbecoming, so unbecoming," Will muttered as the Stewardess gently brushed her hair. It had been embarrassing, realizing she had had a… a spectator for a few moments back there. One moment she had been commanding an imaginary fleet, sending them to battle an equally imaginary fleet of heretics or maybe xenos amongst the sud drifts of the bath, before suddenly realizing that there was somebody watching her. It wouldn't have been too bad getting caught unawares acting as a child would. But she had been naked, her only coverings having been clusters of suds adhered to her hull- her skin, thankfully in strategic places. For now she was clothed in an elegant nightgown, somehow miraculously long enough to comfortably fit her.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Will," the Stewardess gently replied. "Everyone deserves a little stress relief from time to time." Will was kneeling on the bed, facing away as the stewardess tended to her hair from a seat pulled up to the bed.
"I… I got caught up in the moment is all," she blushed. Which was true, being it was her first bath in, well, ever. "It won't happen again."
"Well even if it does I won't say anything," the Stewardess smiled. She continued to brush Will's hair, the sensation sending tingles up and down Will's spine. "Miss Will, may I ask you something?"
"Sure, I suppose."
"May I ask how you treat your hair so well?"
Will blinked. "My… hair?"
"Yes." The brush continued to flow through her hair, the countless bristles parting the strands, like numerous boats sailing upon a golden sea. "I… have never seen nor felt such illustrious hair before. You've taken incredible care of it. May I… may I know what shampoos and conditioners you use?"
"I…" Will trailed off. She didn't have an answer to it. Once a century she had been dry docked, her countless systems tweaked and adjusted as needed by a legion of Enginseers and Techpriests. Her hull gone over with a fine-toothed comb, any cracks or unexpected damages quickly repaired, and past repairs reviewed in depth by cogitator and Magos alike, keen eyes looking for potential errors and shortcomings in past maintenance. Weapons and auguries were reconfigured as needed, her core cogiators purged of any corrupting code and placated with prayers and incense. A whole storage compartment within her had been given over and dedicated solely to her Rites and Records of Maintenance - an ever-increasing volume of parchment listing her ongoing state of well-being. But her hair?
She thought back earlier, to the numerous options to choose from in the bath. Soaps and shampoos and conditioners with archaic High Gothic names. Further still to distant impersonal memories, embarrassing memories of her few female officers bathing. Further still to her Admiral bathing and causing her to blush even more. "Well, I, umm... I use a bit of everything, and a bit more than I probably should," she stammered. "I'm also careful not to let it get damaged." Which was truthful to a degree - Neither Mr. Armless nor his garbage scow could do more than even scratch her, and the bath had cleaned her hair of the soot from said scow's fiery destruction to her satisfaction.
"A bit of everything? Interesting," she softly chuckled. "I'll admit I never thought to mix and match, so to speak." Apparently satisfied with detangling her golden strands, the Stewardess began to deftly and carefully re-braid her hair, hands well-practiced to the point where simple braiding was an art form. Will relished the feeling of her hands in her hair, of being cared for. Memories of being tended to by scores of men and Techpriests, fixing damage after fierce battles against heretics and xenos. The Stewardess was through all too quickly, carefully applying a single golden silk cuff to keep her hair in place. "I think I might try using several shampoos at once. Thank you, for the advice."
She rose from where she sat behind Will, and Will herself stood as well. She was keenly aware of how tall she was, standing next to the much shorter woman. She was about six feet, but next to Will who still managed to stand head and shoulders over her…
"Thank you," Will spoke after breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Umm, about my clothes…"
"Oh, your uniform?" The Stewardess spoke. "They are being laundered and cared for. Your weapons I believe are in the care of the honor guard in the foyer. The Sergeant stated he would guard them with his life."
Sergeant Cantrell. Right. "Oh, well that's good then. Thank you."
"It is my pleasure to serve, my Lady," she replied. "If you need anything, myself or one of the other stewardesses are just a call away."
"I… I will. Thank you, Miss…?"
"Alys," the Stewardess replied with a bow. "Good night, Miss Will."
"Good night," she spoke and with that Alys departed, leaving Will alone. Her chronometer had been updated in the interim at some point, matched with that of the Legacy. Which meant that she had about… eight hours or so, before she had to meet Admiral Quarrel once more. Which meant that she would likely need to be early, very early, and would need enough time to prepare herself in the morning…
She shrugged, and a Fairy on her Bridge helpfully set an alarm to sound a full hour and a half prior. Good enough, Will decided, and pulled away to covers of the massive bed before sinking into it, and she all but immediately passed out.
----====][====----
Meanwhile, within the halls and corridors of His Will…
The Captain Fairy blinked. It looked at the numerous officers standing around the Bridge. Its head pivoted, large empty eyes taking in the scene. It stood on the command podium, the large holo-projector behind it currently devoid of any useful information. Below the Captain, the various officers and crew stood by their posts, motionless and ready to accept their orders.
"Hey!" The Captain commanded after a moment's consideration, and the assembled crew sprang to action, taking their posts and seats, a quiet cacophony of 'Hey' filling the previously silent chamber with low-level noise.
"Hey." A voice spoke to the Captain's right. It turned, taking in the face of the newcomer. It wore the attire of a Commissar, one assigned to the ranks of the Navy. A peaked cap crowned its oversized head, and one of its hands rested on the bolt pistol on its hip. "Hey," The Commissar Fairy repeated.
"Hey," The Captain agreed. Touring the Ship and taking into account the state of the Ship's affairs would be a good idea. Leaving an Acting Captain in charge would be prudent, however. But the First Officer Fairy - normally the recipient of such a task - was nowhere to be found. Presumably it would turn up eventually. But in the meantime…
...There needed to be an Acting Captain. The Captain's empty eyes panned across the crew on the Bridge. They fell upon the perfect candidate, an Ensign Fairy of little to no notability. "Hey!"
The Ensign popped out of its seat, turning and saluting the Captain. "Hey."
"Hey!" the Captain gestured to the empty deck before it.
The Ensign sprang to action, quickly running up to the Captain and standing at attention before its superior. The Captain then reached up to its own head, lifting the ornate bicorne from its perch before placing it upon the Ensign's own head. "Hey," The Captain spoke.
The Acting Captain Fairy blinked, before curtly nodding. "Hey!" it then saluted, acknowledging its temporary assignment.
"Hey." Satisfied the Captain turned, walking to the nearest exit and towards the nearest Lift. The Commissar eyed the Acting Captain warily before following. "Hey?" it enquired.
"Hey," the Captain said. It was confident the hapless Ensign could step up to the task. Any Bridge Officer should be ready to do so if the need arose.
Standing before the nearest lift, waiting for the arcane device to arrive and then deliver it to its first destination, the Captain carefully considered where to go first. After a brief moment of deliberation, it decided on visiting the Enginarium. The lift arrived, and the gilded doors slid open, its new occupants stepping inside before being whisked away into the depths of the Ship.
A few minutes and a few winding corridors later the Captain and Commissar arrived, the former swinging open the great copper doors of the chamber. Above and before the Captain was merely one part of the Ship's vast primary plasma reactor. The meters-thick casing formed the entirety of one great wall of the chamber, the reactor far too large to be contained to a single compartment. It was the beating heart of the Ship, the burning star upon which all of the Ship's systems drew power.
The Magos Fairy was there, the one in charge of all of the maintenance for the Ship. It, as well as a number of other Techpriest Fairies stood around and gazed upon a central dais, upon which a truly massive book rested. It turned to face the Captain, eyes warily considering the interloper upon the sacred deck of the Omnissiah. "Hey," it eventually spoke, offering a raspy electronic greeting to its technical superior.
"Hey," the Captain replied. Its own eyes panned across the chamber, taking in all there was to see. "Hey?"
"Hey." The Magos gestured to the dais. "Hey."
"Hey," the Captain agreed. It strode over to the dais, to take a look at the massive tome. The book looked old, eons old, yet showed few if any signs of wear - no creases along its spine, nor fraying of its thick cover. "Hey?"
"Hey." The Magos pointed to the title.
The tome's title was a long one, several lines of High Gothic golden text embossed onto the thick leather hardcover, above the sacred symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus. 'The Assembled Engineering Manuals and Technical Schematics for Operation and Maintenance of Apocalypse-class Battleship, M30 Edition,' was what the title stated. Gently, the Captain took hold of the cover and opened the giant book much to the alarm of the Magos Fairy and other Techpriests, before turning to a random page near the front. It landed on a two-page spread of some sort of arcane device - an air-scrubbing machine, according to the title at the top of the page. It observed the pages, their crispness and lack of wear, all the while ignoring the Magos' protests before closing the book.
"Hey!" the Captain spoke after a long moment, turning to the Magos. "Hey!"
"Hey!" The Magos shouted in its defense.
"Hey?" the Captain spoke, and the room grew deathly silent. Even the beating reactor seemed to quiet, if only briefly. "Hey." the Captain then grabbed hold of the massive book, raising it above its hatless head before bringing the colossal tome down upon the Magos' augmented and hooded skull, sending it to the deck with a heavy thud.
*wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey." *wham* "Hey."
The Magos lay face-down and twitching on the deck, its mostly-cybernetic face now molded to the deck of the Enginarium. The Techpriest huddled behind nearby maintenance consoles, now rightly terrified of the Captain. Even the Commissar was impressed. It had been trained to use its bolt pistol mainly to ensure both discipline and common sense - while messier, it nevertheless took less effort to make a point or statement.
And what a statement it was. A… cathartic statement, at that. The Captain placed the ancient tome back upon the sacred dais, the volume seemingly no worse for wear after its impromptu usage as a bludgeon. "Hey," it spoke to the now mollified Magos, still twitching on the deck.
"Heeey…" the Magos somehow managed, its voice processor crackling excessively.
"Hey." The Captain turned, briskly walking out of the Enginarium and the Commissar followed, apparently satisfied that discipline had been metered out, even if it wasn't by its own hand.
"Hey?" The Commissar asked, inquiring about where the Captain would like to go next. "Hey?" It offered, suggesting any of the Ship's many cafeterias. Power was important to the Ship, but so was food and water to the Ship's crew. It could also use a snack, but it didn't voice that particular to the Captain.
The Captain briefly considered. "Hey?"
The Commissar nodded as they walked. "Hey," it gestured in a direction, towards one of the Ship's hangar bays. Specifically where… those things were being held.
The Captain nodded. "Hey," it decided.
The Commissar led the way. It's snack would have to wait.
----====][====----
The ancient daemon did not know how much time had passed since the Despoiler had fallen in battle. Since it had been… had been taken, captured, held as a… as a trophy.
Perhaps not quite the last one. It… this place… was no trophy room. Which somehow made it worse. Had it been a trophy room, the Daemonsword would have been fine with that. It could have been, could have become an object of contention, could have waited for another worthy enough to wield it to come along, to gaze upon its form, for their soul to fill with desire. Perhaps steal it, spirit it away to someone else, either as a trophy or weapon. That way, it could have found a new wielder, one worthy enough to carry it.
But this? An insult upon insults. It was not a trophy here, merely junk left upon a floor. Because 'here' was the deck of a hangar bay, inside of one of the warships of the Anathema.
And Drach'nyen, The Echo of the First Murder, had been unceremoniously dumped upon the ferrocrete deck like… like… a piece of refuse. Discarded and forgotten, along with the idiot minor Daemon inside of that Fool's Talon, still attached to part of said Fool's arm.. And yes, Abaddon's other arm was still gripping its hilt and oozing blackish blood all over it. And the Daemonsword noted that yet another part of that... failure of a Warmaster was also there, dumped just as unceremoniously and just as forgotten.
Well, not quite forgotten. There was a loose cordon of… things, a circle of vaguely humanoid not-humans standing around the daemon weapons, numbering about two dozen at the most. They wore the uniforms of the Anathema's Navy and carried the appropriate weapons. But…
But they were not humans. Or Daemons, or any other race it knew of. Anything the ancient daemon knew of. There were no souls there, not any that it could perceive with its warp senses. Nothing to corrupt. Instead of pinpoints of warp presences here, there was only this strange dilute haze - as if a single great soul was spread out in an impossible manner. They were something new, with their comically oversized heads and blank expressionless faces. And they had ceaselessly watched both Drach'nyen and the Talon, for what knew how long.
At first he had tried to speak to them, offering promises of power and strength. Of vengeance against their enemies. Surprisingly they had completely ignored the Daemonsword, in truth only responding not to Drach'nyen but to the Talon when it twitched, or when the bolters clicked, trying to fire corrupted shells long since spent. Drach'nyen could still hear the madly-gibbering Daemon housed within it, uttering incomprehensible garbage and no doubt equally upset about its predicament.
Eventually however, one of them that looked to be in charge of the rabble had gestured to another, saying something utterly alien to Drach'nyen before the latter darted away through a hatch, only to return moments later with a box clutched in its arms. A box that Drach'nyen realized with horror was full of earmuffs, as the thing began to walk around the circle and handed them out to every one of the things present.
That had been what might have been hours or could have been years ago. So now it might as well have been muted, for all the good it would do. It doubted its current situation could get any worse.
And then two more of them entered the bay.
----====][====----
The Captain strode onto the Hangar Deck and swiftly approached the cordon of security personnel at the center. Most of the minor spacecraft had been cleared away, taken either to the deck on the opposite side of the Ship or stowed out of the way inside the adjacent maintenance hall, as had the Rating and Engineer Fairies that would have normally tended to them. Only a dromon remained, the passenger shuttle much too large to fit through the cross-access to the port hangar. It had seemed an odd choice, to deposit the unholy relics on the hangar bay floor. The Captain would have preferred them locked inside of a storage locker in a distant corner of the Ship and under heavy guard, or just launched into space where the Ship's point defense weapons could have made short work of them. But orders were orders. Especially Her orders.
Meanwhile, the assigned personnel that had been ordered to watch them had reported that one of them had tried to somehow speak to those present. The Sergeant Fairy had requested hearing protection from the Quartermaster Fairy in the form of heavy-duty earmuffs. The Captain was mildly impressed at the Sergeant's initiative, and felt it warranted a commendation.
Speaking of which, said Sergeant turned to face its superior as it approached. "Hey," it saluted.
"Hey," the Captain replied. "Hey?"
"Hey," the Sergeant gestured to the daemonsword at the center of the cordon. "Hey."
"Hey." The Captain began to walk towards the center and the Chaotic weapons, then past the cordon.
"Hey?" The Commissar at its side asked, alarmed. "Hey!" it insisted.
"Hey," The Captain reassured his companion as they reached the center. Before them lay the three relics recovered. The cursed Daemonsword and the weird Talon-Bolter hybrid thing. And the third relic, which the Captain thought was oddly out of place next to the others.
The Daemonsword was hideous, up close. Ugly and malformed, a true product of the Warp. An arm, clad in a garishly decorated power armor bracer still clutched the weapon's handle. And much to the Captain's surprise the face on the Daemonsword's warped crossguard began to actually speak.
"You," it hissed. "You are not like the others here. Free me, take me into battle, and you shall be granted power beyond your wildest imagination!"
The Captain regarded the speaking sword, noting the hint of desperation in its voice before turning to the Commissar. "Hey?"
"Hey," the Commissar replied.
The Captain turned back to the sword. And grinned wickedly, enough to make even the daemonsword pause mid-lie. "Hey."
The Hangar Bay was quiet already, with the absence of bustling personnel and work and the silent security team. But it somehow got even quieter.
"Wh- what are you about to do!?" It asked, suddenly frightened.
"Hey." And then the Captain reached down the front of its pants before pulling, a great tearing sound echoed through the hangar as a pair of Munitorum-issue underwear were freed from the Captain's pants.
"What are you going to do with that- YOU WILL NOT PUT THAT ACCURSED THING IN MY MOUghrargharb-" The Daemonsword was unceremoniously silenced as the Captain leaned forward and shoved the unholy wad of fabric into the open mouth of the hideous face, and enforcing silence upon the Hangar Bay once more. Satisfied with its work, the Captain stood up and turned back the way it came, and the Commissar followed, once more thoroughly impressed by the Captain's… cavalier way of enforcing authority on the Ship.
"Hey?" the Captain asked.
"Hey," The Commissar firmly replied in agreement. The Officers' Mess sounded like a great idea - they could use a snack. And it would be a fine opportunity to take stock of the Ship's current stores of supplies - water, victuals, other consumables. And snacks, especially snacks.
But their trek back to the lift and the upper levels of the Ship was quickly cut short, by the First Officer no less. "Hey!" it breathlessly exclaimed.
The Captain and Commissar both halted. "Hey!?" the former asked in surprise.
"Hey," The First Officer confirmed, its arm gesturing wildly above them. "Hey!"
The Captain was moving at once, its long strides making its subordinates all but jog to keep up and quickly taking it towards their newfound destination: The Ship's primary Chapel, nestled above them in the superstructure of the Ship.
Time was of the essence. She was here.
----====][====----
Will had passed out pretty much the moment her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion of the day's events having finally caught up to her new human form. She had expected or at least desired pleasant dreams of the Emperor, of waging glorious battle against his enemies and winning, by carrying out His divine will amongst the stars. Or at least of lovely stewardesses, brushing her hair.
What she ended up getting was… this.
She stood before the great golden entrance of her own Chapel, the golden aquila of the Imperium emblazoned across the double doors. She… wasn't sure how to react to it. She looked down, realizing that she was barefoot and still wearing her nightgown, the metal deck apparent beneath her feet. It was… warm for some reason, when she somehow expected it to be cold.
She walked forward, placing her hands against the doors and pushed, and much to her surprise the colossal doors easily swung inward, floating silently on their hinges. The Chapel was vast, empty, countless rows of pews to her left and right, awaiting loyal servants of the Emperor that would likely never fill the seats again. The sides were dominated by titanic stained glass windows, featuring scenes of her past Captains and crew at war. The ceiling above her was covered in murals, depicting past battles she had fought in the Emperor's name. Directly before her at the far end of the empty aisle was the large golden podium upon which her ship-board Ministorum Priest would have given his sermons, now vacant. And behind that still…
Was Him. Or rather a massive golden statue of Him. Her God Emperor in resplendent blinding gold, gauntleted hands resting upon the pommel of a massive sword, looking down at his flock.
At her.
She walked forward towards his statue, past endless rows of pews, her feet taking her to the steps up to the podium before she began to climb. In moments she was standing before Him, His Majesty clad in his great golden armour and her in her bedclothes.
"I…" she stammered, unsure of what to even say. The syllable echoed through the empty chamber. "I don't know how to be human," she eventually managed to say. "I… I'm supposed to be a warship. I'm not even supposed to be alive. I don't know why you made me a girl. A… human being." Will sank to her knees, hoping for a response.
The statue said nothing.
"I was asked something about myself. About my hair." a hand went to the long golden braid, lovingly woven by Alys. "I don't- I didn't know what to say, because I shouldn't be human." She sank to her knees. "I… I wish you could tell me."
The statue said nothing.
Will didn't expect it to either - somehow she knew it wouldn't even though this was probably a dream and anything was possible in those. She knelt there in silence for a spell, her breathing the only sound that punctuated it. Breathing, she thought. Something that people do. That I do now. She brought her hands to her chest, squished them against her breasts, felt her heart beating in her chest. It beat in tune with the distant hum that coursed through her hull, that barely-audible tone that was composed of all the vibrations of all the working systems aboard herself, a sound one could never really escape when aboard her. In all likelihood she would be the only one to ever hear her heartbeat ever again. She… felt sad about that. As if she had lost something important to her.
Her Admiral. Parol. Her crew...
But had she gained anything? This… comprehension? Of Mortality?
Of being human?
She knelt there, pondering, until a hand came to rest upon her head and began to gently scratch it.
She was shaken from her thoughts, and looked up into the face of none other than her Captain Fairy, albeit devoid of his hat. Her First Officer and Commissar Fairies were there too, just off to the side. "Hey," it asked, concerned.
"I… I'll be fine, I think," she reassured him. Or maybe her. They all looked… androgynous at first glance. She felt at least that her Captain Fairy was male, same as she had felt that the little Techpriest Fairy from earlier had been female underneath the robes and mechadendrites. "I just sort of, well, wandered in here somehow."
"Hey," he nodded reassuringly. "Hey."
"Yeah." Her hands went to the braid. "The stewardess, Alys. She did a good job with it."
"Hey."
Will nodded. "I'll pass along the compliment." Will paused before continuing. "Umm, Captain?"
"Hey?"
"Can you… can you keep doing that? It feels nice."
"Hey," her Captain Fairy replied, and continued to stroke her hair in earnest, much to her pleasure.
She stayed like that, for a while.
----====][====----
I tried capturing the overall attitude and appearance of the Fairies as well as I could. I decided to portray them from their point of view that way for a reason: That reason being that they are all ultimately a small part of the greater whole that is Will, and they're trying to figure out how to work. I was also half-asleep as I was writing the dialogue for the main Fairy part, and I literally have no idea what most of what is being said. Seriously, I haven't slept for 2+ days due to insomnia, but I seem to write the nuttiest when I'm in this state for better or worse. You decide.
Also, I couldn't resist appearing Drach'nyen here - I deliberated on it for all of one minute before I said "Fuck It" and wrote the bugger in.
Also, hopefully you didn't need the cyanide bolts. Personally, I need a shot of vodka, equal parts cheap and strong preferably.
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Part 8
Hello my Bois, Here's another dose of HERESY! Courtesy of yours truly. Enjoy.
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The first thing that Lord Admiral Quarren realized upon regaining consciousness was that he was in his bed and in his quarters.
The latter part made sense, he had remembered that much. He had returned to his own quarters after relieving von Saeger and pointing to the next in charge - Commander Matoi, the Legacy's 3rd Officer - and proceeded to sit down at his desk to compile what he imagined was going to be the most unbelievable report of his career. And flicking on the screen of his desktop cogitator was the last thing he could recall. How he ended up tucked into bed…
He pulled himself out of bed, bare feet landing on the carpeted floor of his bedchambers. He was still in his undershirt and undergarments from the day previously, and the Lord Admiral concluded fairly quickly what events regarding his person had transpired. He had passed out from sheer exhaustion while sat at his desk and that somebody - most likely one of the Stewards - had disrobed him and relocated him to his bed. He looked at the clock on the adjacent wall and was pleased with the time. A few minutes shy of seven in the morning. Later than his normal wake-up time, but considering it had been his first actual restful night of sleep in… probably weeks if not months now, it was forgivable.
He noted a full change of clothes, waiting for him on hangers as he approached the doorway to his bath. His dress uniform, so freshly laundered and pressed he could practically smell the crispness. As he walked through the archway, he ran a hand across his face. Almost five days' worth of stubble, desperately in need of shaving. Had he looked this… unkempt to Will?
Will. Oh…
Yes, yesterday had... happened. The Planet Killer. Miss WIll. All of it. Quarren regarded himself in the mirror above his bathroom's sink, and the weathered face that stared back at him with a single piercing blue eye. The thin scars that denoted the injury that had cost him the other, so many years ago now. At the very least he looked well-rested, if in need of a shower and shave. Quarren felt disappointed in himself, that he'd allowed himself to look so terrible in her presence. He regarded the time again, just shy of seven, and decided on what to do to get ready.
Quarren had two separate morning routines, depending on the circumstances he could expect to encounter in a given day in regards to his morning preparation. The first was the most straightforward: Use the bathroom, brush his teeth and shave his stubble, followed by a brief hot shower. The first routine all told took roughly fifteen minutes - a little longer, if he felt luxurious and wanted to spend a few extra moments letting hot water run across his skin, or wasn't particularly pressed for time. The second was a longer routine. First a brief steaming-hot shower, then the teeth and the shave and necessities, followed again by a second, longer shower. The second routine took thirty minutes and was one he reserved for special occasions, or when he needed the added clarity of mind that an extended morning routine granted. But no matter the situation, he always walked out of his bath a half-hour later and for the most part refreshed.
Thirty minutes after stepping into his bathroom, Quarren stepped back out feeling far better than he had before walking in. With expert practice he began donning his uniform. Undergarments and shirt, trousers and jacket, the latter weighed down with selected medals from his long and storied career with the Navy. His boots and sash came next, followed by his weapons belt. He was adjusting his holster and checking his laspistol when three brief raps rang out on his bedchamber door.
"Come in," he spoke, knowing already who it was.
"My Lord," his personal Steward, Raoul began, "Commander Matoi is waiting for you just outside in the foyer."
Quarren nodded. "Excellent. Does she have anything to report?"
"I believe she does Sir."
"Good, inform her I'll be outside momentarily." He fetched the red monocle from atop his vanity, his sole external augment, before carefully inserting it into his empty eye socket. Instinctively he blinked, and the device promptly connected to his ocular nerves and restored the sight the eye that had once preceded it provided. "What of breakfast?"
"I took the liberty of arranging a light meal, as per your habit my Lord."
"Good, good," The Lord Admiral replied. "A light lunch this afternoon as well. Although that may be subject to change."
"Of course my Lord. Will that be all?"
"It is." And with that, Raoul silently left, closing the door just as quietly behind him.
With those preparations out of the way, Quarren once more regarded himself in the full-length mirror in his chambers. Stared at the man in the mirror, in his ornate Navy uniform, took measure of the other's seemingly indomitable gaze. The man in the mirror stared right back, just as unwaveringly. "I'll have to do," Quarren spoke to no one save himself, before striding to the door and leaving the room.
He strode through the hallway leading towards the central foyer of his quarters, past massive paintings portraying the past battles and glories of the Savon's Legacy. Past nearly as massive portraits of many of the ship's previous Captains and Commanding Officers. He would likely join them on the wall, one day. Strolling into the foyer, he came face to face with Matoi. Or rather, Commander Matoi, after her recent promotion.
She turned and crisply saluted him, and he just as crisply returned it. "Sir," she began, "I came to-"
"Walk and talk," Quarren replied, walking past her towards his dining room. "You can brief me over breakfast."
"I- of course, my Lord." She fell into step beside him. "I came to give you a tactical update and to report. In regards to system security, there's nothing immediate to report regarding the Heretics. Aside from a handful of skirmishes with the remaining system monitors and warships under our command, the vast majority of the heretical fleet has fled the system."
Right to business. "Good news," he replied as they entered the dining hall. Raoul and a stewardess, whose name he didn't quite recall had just finished placing an arrangement for two. "Have you eaten yet?"
"I-" The Commander was cut off by the distinct sound of her stomach rumbling. Quarren caught a smirk briefly gracing Raoul's normally stoic face. "I have not Sir."
"Care to join me then? We can discuss anything else that needs my attention." He took a seat at the end of the table and she sat to his right and front, as the stewardess began pouring them both mugs of recaf.
"My Lord and Lady, may I present ambull sausages and rakka eggs with apple-peach pastries," Raoul spoke. "Served with recaf, of course."
"An excellent meal Raoul," Quarren said. "That should be all."
"Of course, my Lord." Raoul bowed, before he and the nameless stewardess quietly left.
"Now, Commander," Quarren began, taking a sip of the steaming Recaf. "You mentioned a report?"
"Yes sir. Or rather technically it's your report."
"Oh, right." He never got the chance to even compile it on the cogitator on his desk. To his surprise the Commander pushed a data-slate across the table to him, with what appeared to be a completed outline of events from the battle the day previously. "Myself and the Fourth Officer drafted an outline of events." Over the next minute he glanced across the text, well written and concise as he and the Commander ate. He stopped reading when he came to an acronym he didn't immediately recognize. "VTU?" he asked.
The Commander placed her fork on the plate before her while dabbing at the corner of her lips. "'Void Traversal Unit,' my Lord. It was mine and Fourth Officer Owell's conclusion, based on my own observations of the Battle with the Planet Killer. They are a form of equipment that enable our ship's ratings and crew to more easily work around the exterior of our ship in the void. The most common devices are functionally a set of thrusters that attach to a given Crewman's voidsuit, allowing them untethered movement beyond the ship."
"An... interesting conclusion, Commander," Quarren replied. He noticed then that the Commander's plate was spotless, even when his was barely half-cleared. A bite of pastry, and he asked, "What of her… unusual appearance, on the Legacy's Auguries?"
"I have no immediate explanation from my own experience, Lord Admiral. I initially sought his guidance from the ship's Tech-Magos, but he was apparently preoccupied."
An eyebrow rose on Quarren's face. "How so?"
"According to his subordinate Techpriests, he has been, and I quote, 'ceaselessly working to placate the ship's machine spirits,' un-quote."
Quarren rubbed his temples, before taking another sip of recaf before letting his gaze wander towards the opposite end of the dining hall and towards the general direction of the Noble's Quarters. "Our most recent guest is certainly proving to be a headache for some."
"Perhaps Sir."
"Perhaps indeed." Another long sip, draining his own mug and he scooped the last morsel of sausage into his mouth. "Right. The report here is as good as any. No matter how either of us could possibly phrase it, I doubt any word or phrase in either high or low Gothic can adequately describe what has befallen us." He pushed the data-slate back to Matoi. "Give that to the Astropath Liaison for transmittal to Segmentum Command. Let them figure out how to get it to where it needs to go. Then go get some sleep Commander."
"I shall. Thank you, my Lord."
"There is nothing to it." The Lord Admiral rose, pushing in his chair before proceeding to the entrance to his quarters with the Commander right behind him. "Before I forget, what of the other Bridge Officers?"
"Lieutenant Owell is seeing to the Vice Admiral per my request," Matoi began. As for our Fifth Officer, Lieutenant Goven, I asked him to accompany the young Miss Will to the Bridge, per your orders."
"Good." Wait…
Something began to click, far back in the hidden recesses of the Lord Admiral's mind. The very top of the Legacy's Command structure could be boiled down to a chain of eight individuals - Himself and von Saeger, plus six 'Bridge' Officers ranked First through Sixth. The ship's First and Second had been transferred, months before and due to battlefield promotion, and as of yet those positions had either yet to be filled, nor promotions amongst the remainder of his command staff finalized. Which meant…
One and two were absent. Three, Four and Five were predisposed. Which in turn meant-
Quarren came to a full stop, mid-step, eyes suddenly wide as the saucers he and his Third-in-Command had just eaten from, said woman narrowly avoiding crashing into her own commander. Oh no. And then he was striding as widely and as quickly as he physically could to the exit of his Quarters, Matoi suddenly forced to jog alongside him to keep up.
"My Lord, What is the matter?" Matoi asked.
"There is a Midshipman in charge of a Battleship, that is the matter." He reached the doors, flinging them open and continuing onward towards the Bridge, Matoi in tow. "You never let that happen, ever."
"Sir, it's barely been twenty minutes since I stepped away, and Midshipman Kevil is competent," the Commander replied. "Surely nothing too bad can hap-"
They both felt it, simultaneously. The shuddering, jarring sensation, as the massive battleship briefly shuddered. Quarren recognized it immediately, as did Matoi. Every shipman worth their salt would recognize it. The tell-tale shudder of angular momentum, the transference of which from one vessel to another as they attached, as two massive objects abruptly became one even more massive object.
Something had just docked with the Legacy.
Something big.
Quarren resisted the sudden need to turn and glare while looming over his Third Officer, before he simply abandoned all pretenses of form and discipline and began to run towards the Bridge, still several hundred yards away. He'd scold and glare at his Bridge crew later but for now…
Now he had a Ship to get control of.
----====][====----
Will awoke at seven in the morning, precisely at the time she had designated.
It was… strange, this sensation of sleep. Once upon a time she had had no need of it. She didn't need to sleep as a battleship. Always were her systems active, Her crew working their rotating shifts, so at all times she was aware and ready to fight, and there were people on duty while others rested. Always had she been 'awake' in as much sense of the word could have once applied to her, ready to fight for the Emperor at a moment's notice, only ever really 'resting' during her brief stays in a dockyard or moored to a station. Now though…
It had been almost instinctive, the desire to close her eyes and drift away. And while she somehow imagined that she could prolong sleep indefinitely… It was something else that she was going to have to accept about her current nature. Although having a sort of alarm clock in her mind - or rather on her Bridge - certainly helped.
She knew where she was: in the Legacy's guest quarters, resting in the spacious bed. Paradoxically inside another ship. Will squashed that thought process and took in her surroundings, the 'Noble's Quarters' as they were called on the Legacy. Every vessel was different, she mused. Carefully she pulled the covers off of her and sat up in her bed, before stepping onto the deck. Felt the carpet on her bare feet. She briefly wondered about her uniform and her weapons before the words of the Stewardess from before came back to her.
And, right there near the door to the bathroom and hanging on a set of hangers, was her dress uniform, freshly cleaned and pressed. She was going to have to thank Alys the stewardess, she decided.
She was about to don her uniform before her Bridge crew informed her of another matter - she had to get ready in the bathroom - although she was briefly unsure why. And then she remembered, by calling upon that same nebulous pool of knowledge from which she had drawn her swordsmanship skills - that her crew had had morning routines. Brushing their teeth, shaving and showering if need be. She walked into the bath and found a set of toiletries laid out for her, probably by Alys. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste, a bottle of face wash and, to her surprise, a razor and tube of floral shave cream. She had to pull on her knowledge to learn that many women shaved their legs, as had several of her distantly-past officers. Will looked down at her own long, shapely legs, muscular and powerful and completely hairless. Shaving seemed to be a task she would not need to partake in, at least for now.
Still, after twenty minutes of figuring out how to put the items to use to the satisfaction of her helpful Fairy crew, she felt marginally more refreshed. Not quite taking-a-bath-refreshed, but close. Will was quick in donning her uniform, only briefly held up by the clasp on her bra. With a helpful pointer from a Fairy on her Bridge she was quick to figure it out, and in moments she was once more resplendent in her uniform, once more looking as a proper Warship of the Imperial Navy should. And feeling it as well, come to think of it.
It was as she was adjusting her golden aquila breastplate that someone softly rapped on the door to the room, startling her.
"Umm, come in?"
The door opened quietly, and Alys stepped in. "My lady," she began, "You are awake."
Will nodded. "I am. I slept pretty well, I think. And thank you for the ah, things in the bathroom."
She nodded, smiling. "Of course my Lady. There is a gentleman here to meet you. Lieutenant Goven."
"Oh. Okay, I'll be just out to meet him."
"Of course," she bowed and turned before departing.
Will regarded herself in the nearby vanity mirror. She still looked as she imagined herself to look - tall, beautiful, proud. The very picturesque definition of a Battleship. She stood a moment longer, admiring her chest and her curves, before deciding that she had to go meet the Lieutenant. Presumably, he was going to escort her to meet her Admiral. Satisfied that she was dressed to her own satisfactory standard, she turned and left walked out of her bedroom.
He stood at the doorway to her quarters, just inside the entrance to the foyer. The Sergeant from the night before - Cantrell, she remembered being his name - stood to his right. She recognized her weapons belt, held in his hands.
"My Lady," the Lieutenant spoke and saluted her, his voice calm and even, "I was ordered to accompany you until you met the Admiral." Will noted his right arm, as he saluted; it was augmetic, the hand metal and reflective.
"Yes, of course," she replied. "As for my effects…"
"Of course," the Sergeant spoke up, holding up the belt to Will. "My apologies if I deprived you. You had already retired for the night when the Stewardess informed me of them, so I took custody of them for safekeeping. I meant no disrespect."
"It's okay, Sergeant, thank you." Will took the belt, fastening it quickly and deftly to her waist. Once more she was whole, although if she had been truly desperate she felt that she could have called out to them somehow and they would have come. "There's still an amount of time before the Admiral asked to meet me, though."
"I believe breakfast might be in order then," Goven spoke
"Breakfast?" Right, people needed to eat, she mused. And according to her Quartermaster Fairy, her supplies were running low. While a Battleship of her class could go for… quite a long time without the need to resupply, It wouldn't hurt to restock, so to speak. "Lead the way," she smiled.
"Certainly, My Lady." He turned to leave, before stopping briefly to address the Sergeant beside him. "Sergeant, relieve your men for the day. Get something to eat and get some rest."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." He saluted, before turning to leave ahead of them.
"May I recommend the Officer's Mess?" The Lieutenant asked. "They began to serve breakfast a short while ago."
Will nodded. "That is perfect." Her words were punctuated by a sudden, unexpected growl from her stomach. She somehow imagined it to be the grumblings if her Fairies, disgruntled due to the prospect of reduced portions in her Mess halls. "More than perfect."
The Lieutenant chuckled. "Then we should make haste then, follow me."
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The Legacy's Officer's Mess was situated in the superstructure of the battleship, just a few decks below those for the Officer's Quarters. And it was every bit as palatial as her own had been.
As the Lieutenant led her through the entrance, Will audibly gasped, suddenly bombarded with the sights and sounds and most importantly tastes and smells of what lay within. She almost kept going, felt herself being attracted towards the serving areas before Lieutenant Goven gestured towards the hygiene stations by the entrance - even the Officers were subject to the standards of cleanliness set by the Ship's Chirurgeon. Still, after that minor hiccup and with her hands freshly washed, she found herself with a tray of plates, mouth salivating at the variety of food. It… All of it...
...Was incredible. A riot of sight and sound and smell and color and taste. Serving stations both manned and self-serve, filled with food of all sorts. Several kinds breakfast meats, various baked goods in the form of pastries and bagels and tarts and biscuits. There were fruits of all kinds, and toppings and condiments and drinks. She even saw three different kinds of recaf on tap at the drink dispenser. Such a bounty, such a wonderful bounty...
"My Lady?" Goven tried to say to her. "Are you unwell?"
"It's… it's amazing…" Will stammered.
"I… suppose it would be for some," he replied. "Although they're a bit light on rations as of late. Usually there's greater variety, but with the state of affairs in the Sector so to speak-"
"G- greater variety?" She asked, shocked. Her… her crew, even her Officers, had never had food this good. Not even in her days when she was alongside her two Sisters and defending Terra. It… It was too much.
"Can… can I?"
"Help yourself," Goven replied. "I believe you have probably earned a full meal."
And so she did. As Will worked her way around the buffet tables she grabbed a little of everything, and before long she had piled her tray high with food of all kinds - If she had the opportunity to sample such a variety of foods, she was going to do her best to enjoy it.
And enjoy it she did. Quickly she ate, clearing the plates on her tray with remarkable efficiency. She drained both mugs of recaf, and in what felt like no time at all, she felt something else new: Satiation. It was… interesting, feeling what was called being 'full.' She sighed, rubbing a hand across her belly. Will thankfully didn't have the same supply requirements some of her other warships had, being an all-Lance warship. No endless stream of macro shells and torpedoes to feed her nonexistent guns and tubes. However, her Fairies still needed food, and her reactors needed hydrogen, and occasionally her point defense batteries and Nova Cannon needed reloading...
"Uhh… wha…"
She looked up, suddenly aware of the people around her. Goven sat across from her, his food barely touched. As was that of many of the others seated around them. He, and his fellow Officers had been watching her in rapt awe.
"Lieutenant?"
"Where… did it all go?"
"I don't follow."
"You… just ate… just put away two platoon's worth of rations," The man spoke with a notable degree of awe in his voice.
Will blinked. "I was hungry," She was suddenly aware that she was beginning to blush now.
Some, then most of the people seated around them resumed eating. Goven did as well, quickly working his way through the rest of his grox-bacon and potatoes. "I don't think I've ever seen a lady manage something like that before Ma'am," the man said between bites of food.
"I was thinking of dessert. They had apple-peaches. I never heard of those before."
Goven swallowed. "Those are good. Hard to keep fresh for any length of time though."
"Oh. I'll go try one then." Will moved to stand up and bus her tray when she and everyone else in the Mess Hall felt it - something docking with the Legacy. Something big. Eerily the Mess Hall went silent, every set of eyes looking up at the sound and the feeling of the shuddering vibrations. Will's head pivoted to the Lieutenant's, her eyes locking with his. This wasn't normal.
He was up at once, as was many of the other officers and NCOs in the Mess Hall. Will bee-lined for the tray turn-in area, placing her empty plates and tray on the rack before making haste to the exit, Goven right beside her. "I was an idiot, Emperor's damned it," he muttered.
"Lieutenant?"
He dropped his tray next to hers before outpacing her out of the exit. "Midshipman Kevil, I thought it would be a good idea. A half-hour, no more than forty-five minutes. See if he could hold his own in the Captain's Chair unassisted."
Will blinked, realizing the implications. "You left a Midshipman in charge of a Battleship?"
"It was a terrible idea."
"It very much was, Lieutenant."
"Hindsight has such clarity. Quarren is going to space me."
Will had nothing to reply to that. The tone had changed around them. A sudden air of unease, an extra degree of urgency in the crew moving around them. Will could see it easily, being heads-and-shoulders taller than everyone else.
The entered and climbed the central staircase going up to the Bridge. The lifts would be crowded and packed and temporarily overwhelmed, and they needed to be there as soon as possible. And in moments they were, stepping off onto the Command deck and passing through gilded double doors into the very brain of the Legacy.
Will took in the sight of the Bridge - dozens of people, manning just as many information stations, parsing data from Gunnery, the Auguries, the Enginarium and numerous others. There was an elevated dais at the center of the chamber, holding the displays for the Ship's Captain and a large spherical holo-sphere. Before her, through meters-thick transparent arma-plas screens was the world of Cadia, so close yet so distant, and more distant still the swirling, angry red of the Eye of Terror. Despite something like this being a core part of her, it was still breathtaking seeing it first-hand, witnessing the buzz of activity that infused this part of any given starship.
As she followed behind Goven as he angrily marched up towards where a single young man stood on the dais, several things happened all at once.
Admiral Quarren - her Admiral - marched onto the Bridge, with another female officer in tow. Followed in turn by von Saeger, who himself had an officer of his own behind him. And as her head pivoted to acknowledge them, she saw out of the viewscreen the vessel with which they had docked.
A Grand Cruiser, its hull nearly jet-black, a hole against the swirling red clouds of the Eye of Terror. It was illuminated only by the light cast from its own view ports and by the lights shone against a colossal seal, easily five hundred meters across and affixed to the side of the vessel amidships.
The red and black skull-encrusted 'I' of the Inquisition.
Her Admiral, she realized, had seen it as well, and at the same time she did.
"Oh, frakk," he spoke.
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NOBODY EXPECTS THE INQUISITION!
But on a more serious note, I hope the breakfast scenes didn't come off as too weird. It honestly took me a while to work around it. Also, I still don't have any solid numbers as to how many daily calories Will needs - I'm just going to go with "lots".
Anyways I hope you enjoyed that. As a side note, The next installment of With Friends Like These is on its way. Expect it by Halloween.
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